Rathe Decanius - The Shadow-Walker
by HeroicJDog
Summary: No one knows where he came from. No one knows what he wants. It is said he kills for coin. It is said he kills for pleasure. It is said he simply kills. I warn you now friends and dear ones, watch the shadows… This is the tale of Rathe Decanius - The Shadow-Walker. A wronged man on a quest for blood, vengeance, family and personal redemption.
1. Prologue

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Prologue

The Decanius family name was so steeped in history, tradition and wealth that when Rimalus Decanius married a woman beneath his social standing and purely for love, he was all but ostracised and exiled from the family. He and his common wife, Jena, were given a token plot of land on the outskirts of the Nibenay Valley to farm and were granted the ability to retain the family name to use to sell their crops at inflated prices.

The two lived happily however, and were soon blessed by a beautiful baby boy, Rathe. His birth weakened Jena somewhat and by the time the lad was two Jena was ill and in great pain as she brought their second child, a daughter, into the world. Regan's birth was the catalyst for the cancer eating away at Jena to overcome her and when Rathe was only three and his sister still in swaddling clothes, their mother died.

Rimalus cared for his two young children as best as he could but he was a man of the land - not a nursemaid and he could ill afford the cost of hiring help. The small family struggled on until Rathe grew to a young adolescent where he was promptly put in charge of his sister's wellbeing while Rimalus turned more and more inward, unable to reconcile the grief of losing his beloved Jena so soon into their life together.

Rimalus found relief of a sort in drink which inevitably led him to spend more and more coin on procuring drink. The farm fell into disrepair without anyone tilling the soil and feeding the stock. Rathe provided for his sister as best as he could and often found himself fishing and hunting all day to scrape together enough food to feed them (and usually food to force down his drunken father's throat when all the man wanted was wine). Rimalus began to stay away for days at a time and sometimes he came home with pockets full of coin which young Rathe would wisely spend on good plain fare and warm clothing for his sister. Rimalus would be in good spirits at these times and spend hours with his young son, praising the boy for his dutiful diligence in raising his sister. The man would also spend hours with his small red haired daughter sitting perched on his lap, just stroking her long dark hair and humming beneath his breath. Rathe would often catch tears rolling down his father's face when he sat with Regan on his lap and Rathe knew it was because she reminded their father of their mother.

More often than not however, were the times when Rimalus stumbled home reeking of alcohol, unsteady on his feet and not a coin on his person. Days like this saw Rathe withdraw into himself in dark anger towards his father. He would scrape meat and bread from his own plate and pile it onto Regan's and stare angrily at his drunken father while Regan gobbled down the meagre fare.

One night Rathe found a pair of dice and an empty skooma bottle in his father's cloak pocket and he knew his father was going off to skooma dens on his long forays away. Rathe was enraged that his father would gamble with the meagre coin they could pull together from the debilitated farm. The boy confronted his father in a terrifying display of rage and was horrified when his father wilted beneath his anger and became a blubbering mess on the floor, proclaiming himself weak and burdened by the drink. He begged Rathe to forgive him and swore never to touch another drop of the demon drink again. Rathe's heart grieved anew at the way his anger had affected his father and he forgave the poor sot. For days after the incident Regan was wary around her brother and this more than their father's debauchery saddened Rathe. It took gentle coaxing and tender heartedness on the boy's part to win over his sister again.

Rimalus lasted twelve days before the drink claimed him again. Rathe watched on from afar as his father slipped deeper into alcoholism, skooma addiction and he assumed debt, for now his father never brought home coin. Rathe was solely responsible for rearing Regan and although he was strict on her, he adored his sister and doted on her. She was the only highlight in his troubled young life.

One night Rimalus tore into their decrepit cottage and slammed and bolted the door behind him. Rathe was instantly alert as he took in his father's pallid complexion and the beads of sweat clinging to the man's brow. He begged his father to tell him what had gotten him into such a state and after hours of coaxing the man had finally broken down to his teenage son and told of his incalculable debt to a local skooma den operator.

Rathe's anger threatened to be unleashed but he held it in check to spare Regan who was watching with large round eyes, peeking out from the door to their room. Rathe calmed his father and fed him watery broth to try and put some strength back into the man. He was surprised to feel how skin and bone his father had become.

Two days came and went where Rathe alternated between hunting for food to keep them alive and force feeding that same food to his father whose skooma withdrawal was affecting him deeply. Rathe's anger grew inside him but he swallowed it down bitterly and went about his duty.

When night fell on the second day of Rimalus's return the Divines abandoned the little family and Oblivion yawned…

_…Rathe was fully aware that Regan had crept from her straw bed and was watching him from her customary place at the doorway. He turned and couldn't help but smile at his sister. Her deep red hair was sticking out at crazy angles from having been laid upon and her wide green eyes were solemn and serious but still lovely against her pale skin._

_She truly had the look of their mother with her pale skin, green eyes and smattering of freckles. And though she was only a few months older than thirteen years he knew she was going to be stunning._

_Regan returned his smile shyly but abruptly lost it again as their father moaned. Rathe turned back to the man sitting slumped at the table, one hand now resting in his bowl of broth. Rathe clenched his teeth and sucked in his breath. Gods the man infuriated him! He swallowed his anger and reached out with surprising gentleness and plucked his father's hand from the now tepid broth._

_"Father." He admonished quietly. "You must eat something!"_

_Rimalus weakly raised his head and focused his wayward gaze on his son. A faint smile came to his lips and he croaked, "You're a good lad Rathe. A good lad."_

_Rathe frowned and patted his father gently on the cheek. Rimalus's eyes closed beneath the gentle caress of his son._

_Suddenly the silence in the cottage was shattered._

_All three jumped at the sudden crack of their front door being smashed off its hinges. Regan screamed and dashed to Rathe. The boy swept her behind him protectively as Rimalus staggered to his feet. _

_Rathe's eyes went wide as he watched the figure storm in through the broken doorway._

_The figure moved like death and wore the shadows of night like garments. The figure's face was masked and performed a quick cursory glance of the shack before the gleaming red eyes behind the mask settled once more on Rimalus._

_Rimalus backed away stammering, "Gods no! Gods no!"_

_ The figure's hand drifted to a dagger at its side and a muffled voice emanated from its face, "Rimalus Decanius. The Dark Brotherhood sends its regards."_

_Rimalus and Regan screamed as the figure lunged forward but Rathe leapt to his father's defence and grabbed the hand holding the dagger. Rathe succeeded in knocking the dagger out of the surprised assassin's hand and managed to catch a glimpse of the assassin's eyes before receiving a backhanded blow that sent him reeling._

_Rathe crashed into the dining room table, his sister's screams and father's pleas for mercy filling his ears. Rathe scrambled to his feet, his hand unconsciously curling around a carving knife and turned in time to see the assassin step over to Rimalus and draw his dagger deeply across his father's throat._

_ "No!" Rathe screamed in anguish and agony as he lunged forward at the masked man._

_The assassin turned but was not quite quick enough to avoid Rathe's swipe with the carving knife. The assassin hissed as the blade bit into his bicep. With tears streaming down his face and an inarticulate sound emanating from him mouth, Rathe swung the blade almost blindly again. This time the assassin was ready and he caught the boy's wrist in a crushing grip. He twisted Rathe's hand and the boy's cries of rage turned to cries of pain as he was forced to drop the knife. _

_Rathe flung his fist up at the assassin and both were surprised when he managed to connect with the slippery assassin's face. The masked man was staggered for a moment and lost his grip on Rathe's hand. The young boy was relentless and came toward the assassin fearlessly. Beneath his mask, the assassin smiled grimly. _

_A noise at the entrance of the cottage told the assassin they had company however so he sidestepped Rathe's latest swing and instead dealt another sharp backhand blow to the boy. Rathe fell heavily again, this time tasting blood as he went down._

_The assassin turned and watched the pig-faced skooma dealer slink in through the shattered doorframe. _

_The albino's pink eyes were fixated on the body of Rimalus, now lying face up in a pool of dark blood. _

_Rathe watched the albino from his place on the floor, too numb and overcome to move. Regan stood frozen beside the body of her dead father – for the moment forgotten._

_"Oh nice job. Nice job! I knew it was worth paying you people good coin to do the job!" The albino chirped, nearly clapping his hands together in glee. He wore richly made clothes and the paunch of his stomach spoke of wealth and power. Wealth and power he'd made at the misfortune of others._

_The assassin's eyes narrowed in distaste. _

_"Did you think the Dark Brotherhood would fail? Is that why you wanted to be here for it?"_

_The albino's eyes flickered to the assassin and a sly smile crept to his thin lips._

_"Oh no. I never doubted the Night Mother. I never do my friend."_

_The assassin turned away with obvious distaste in his eyes. _

_Rathe shifted uneasily feeling broken shards of pottery digging into him. The assassin turned to the boy and frowned. He glanced over the cottage once again and murmured, "You wanted him dead because he owed you coin - " _

_"Substantial coin." The albino snarled._

_"Because he owed you coin." The assassin continued. "But now that he's dead what hope do you have in recovering it? I doubt anything in this hovel is worth selling. How to you expect to recoup your losses?"_

_The albino's pink gaze finally slid away from the dead body on the floor. It crept like a rat across the room to land on the trembling girl standing with her fist lodged in her teeth. _

_"Oh I'll recoup my losses. Don't you worry about me…"_

_The assassin's eyes narrowed again and his fingers clenched on the hilt of his dagger._

_Rathe followed the gist of the conversation – both the said and unsaid – and cried out as he clambered to his feet._

_"Don't you dare touch her!" _

_The boy, weak, heartbroken and with blood dribbling down his chin, lunged at the albino. The skooma dealer squawked and rapidly stepped backwards._

_"Do something!" He cried as Rathe scrambled across the shattered furniture toward the albino._

_"My contract was for the man, not the boy." The assassin said impassively._

_Although Rathe was fifteen years old and tall for his age, he was still a boy. And although the skooma dealer was a coward and a bully, he was still a full grown adult and when he swung his fist at Rathe, the boy went down._

_The albino laughed and drifted over to Rathe who was struggling on the floor. _

_"Attack me will you?" He hissed and drove the point of his boot into Rathe's ribs. The sound was sickening in the silent room and Regan screamed again. The albino ignored her and the crying boy and continued kicking. _

_Finally, a hard grip on his shoulder stopped the albino and he was wrenched around to stare into the assassin's eyes. _

_"Enough." The masked man said._

_The albino sniffed and yanked himself free of the assassin's grip. He straightened his tunic and smoothed his hair pedantically. _

_"Yes well. I can't hang around here all night. I have things to do."_

_He smiled obsequiously and hefted himself over to the terrified young girl. _

_Regan stared up at him with wide eyes and finally seemed to become aware of his nearness. She began backing away and started to scream again._

_The albino lashed out and slapped her hard. _

_Before Regan could fall to the floor he caught her by the wrist and yanked her close to him. She struggled and called out Rathe's name hysterically. _

_Rathe lay on the floor in a daze, listening but not really hearing his sister's screams and the dull slap of the albino hitting her again. Finally she went silent and Rathe could hear one set of heavy footsteps moving through the house and another set as though being half dragged along._

_He groaned and murmured and tried to stand but white hot pain lanced through his ribs. Broken most likely he thought distractedly. _

_"Rathe!" Regan screamed one last time, but this time far away and distorted. She was outside. _

_Then nothing._

_Rathe slumped back on the floor, his cheek lying in a pool of blood and he was unsure if it was his own or his father's. He lay like that for a time before he became aware of the presence crouched at his side._

_Rathe weakly opened his eyes and looked up at the masked assassin squatting beside him._

_"You've got fire, boy. Fire like I've rarely seen."_

_A hand reached down and stroked the hair from his eyes and Rathe was confused at how gentle the touch was._

_"Potential." The masked man said._

_Rathe closed his eyes and darkness fell over him. The last thing he heard was, "And I hate to see potential go to waste."…_

…Rathe was taken to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary of Bruma by that hooded assassin who turned out to be a Dunmer named Vaden Dren. Rathe initially fought Dren and loathed the man who had killed his father but soon came to grudgingly accept the Dark Elf and realise that although it was Dren's blade that may have slit his father's throat; it was not Dren's hand that had guided the deed.

Days turned into months and then years as Rathe focused his rage and grief into his training regime. Dren's instincts about the boy were more than rewarded as Rathe turned out to be a natural with blade and bow. The Dark Elf was nonetheless disturbed by the hollow coldness that characterised Rathe's stare and he knew the young man kept a close lid on the turmoil he still felt about losing his father, his sister's abduction and of course the albino.

Dren was unsurprised to learn that Rathe was quietly putting his feelers out into the world to try and learn of the albino's whereabouts, and ultimately his sister's location. Though Dren sympathised with the young man he was obligated to enforce the tennets and ordered Rathe to halt his search and sever all ties to his lost kin and debt of blood vengeance.

Rathe stoically took the verbal warnings and subsequent beatings from his master but never gave up his search for his sister. Realising he would have to kill the young man to ever stop his search, Dren eventually relented and turned a blind eye to Rathe's obsession.

Time continued in that vein with Rathe taking contracts to assassinate nobles and commoners alike whilst still pursing lead after lead on his sister and the albino. The Dark Brotherhood was astounded at the young man's methodical and flawless ability to kill. He spoke little, absorbed everything and rarely – If ever – showed emotion. Dren asked the young man one day why he never wore a mask when carrying out a contract. Rathe's cool answer had chilled the Dark Elf. "No one who sees my face lives to tell about it."

Times grew uneasy for the Brotherhood and eventually the Bruma sanctuary was attacked. Rathe barely managed to escape with his life and the grievously wounded Dren over his shoulder. The two assassins took shelter in a cave and Rathe tended to his wounded master as best he could.

It was clear to both of them that Dren would surely die of the terrible belly wound he had sustained during the attack. When Dren had begged for Rathe to draw his blade across his throat and end his agony Rathe had paused in confusion. Memories of Dren doing the same thing to Rathe's own father haunted him and he very nearly refused his master. Finally Rathe had felt his inner conscience win over and he gave his master the merciful death he craved.

The young man had turned from his dead master without a tear or a burial and turned his footsteps to wandering Cyrodil – still ceaselessly hunting the albino. Many years came and went and Rathe found himself moving on time after time, taking dead drop contracts for the Brotherhood and encountering nothing but dead ends in the search for his sister.

With the Brotherhood all but demolished in Cyrodil, and a vague whisper of a sighting of an albino skooma dealer in Skyrim, Rathe decided to turn his back on his homeland and head to the cold, stark beauty of Skyrim. Perhaps in this rugged and deadly land he would finally find his sister… and become whole again.


	2. Rumor and The Bitter Cold

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 2

Rumor and the Bitter Cold

_Turdas, 28__th__ of Last Seed_

_I've heard of a merchant in Windhelm who is a dealer in black market items and a nefarious sort of character. His name is Ravyn Sadri and he's has connected with the Thieves Guild of this cold bitter province, the Dark Brotherhood and, of course, skooma dealers. I need to unearth the skooma ring in Skyrim as, if he's here, the Albino will surely be back up to his foul ways of racketeering, prostitution and dealing. This dark elf may be able to point me in the direction of Skyrim's dark underbelly… if he's cooperative. _

The ride to Windhelm had been bitterly cold, though Rathe had found his muscles warmed with frequent use of his sword and bow. Wild animals of Skyrim pursued him and Sicarius, his dark steed, and were relentless until Rathe put an arrow through their throats. More irritating to the Shadow-Walker were the bandits and cutthroats who periodically leapt out in poor ambushes to demand his coin or his life.

In some instances, a mere glance from his cold, pale eyes was enough to make the bandits melt back into the shadows they came from to await more vulnerable prey. One cocky group had decided their superior numbers leant them the strength to deal with one lone figure. They were wrong. Rathe cut down eight armed men without raising a sweat and was back on Sicarius and riding towards the city of perpetual blizzards before their blood had stopped steaming in the snow covered ground.

Rathe left Sicarius with the stable boy along with a piece of gold to ensure the horse was fed, watered and cared for. The Shadow-Walker tucked his weapons beneath his cloak and shifted his dagger to his hip within easy reach; cities of Skyrim were oft more dangerous for a man than the wilds.

He headed down the long bridge to Windhelm and as he approached the great doors to the city, he neither ducked his face nor stared down the guards; he simply entered calmly and coolly and thus never received a second look from the hunched guards.

Rathe glanced around the large courtyard and immediately spied a large inviting hall. He knew from experience that taverns and halls were a good source of information for a quiet listener but he needed to purchase a few supplies first. He headed to the market area, drawn by the sounds of a smith hammering and the harsh calls of merchants hawking their wares.

Rathe concluded his business efficiently and quietly, talking little more than was necessary but demanding a fair price on his goods for sale and the supplies purchased. He noticed a bored looking Nord guard leaning heavily on his polearm and kicking his toe in a snow drift. The man had the look of one who wanted any excuse to chat and take his mind away from the tedium of guarding the marketplace.

Rathe moved up beside the guard and muttered, "Damned Altmer. Overcharged me for a jug of wine."

The guard started violently; he hadn't heard Rathe move up beside him such was the Shadow-Walker's prowess of moving silently.

The guard grinned broadly.

"Yeah, she'll do that stranger! Damned elves, always out to make a profit."

Rathe smiled inwardly; his guess that the Nord guard would also be racist was bang on. Rathe pulled a pained expression and played up to the guard.

"A man can't even get decent old style mead from them elves!"

The guard nodded and snarled, "I hear you friend. It's those elves with their fancy wine and silky clothes that are ruining Skyrim."

Rathe nodded and sighed.

"Well, not much we can do about it…"

The guard frowned and leaned close to the Shadow-Walker.

"If you're looking for good mead that'll knock you off your feet friend – and at a fair price – you should go see Sadri in the Grey Quarter."

Rathe pulled a face at this and the guard hurried on.

"Oh he's a grey skin sure but if ever there was an elf with a Nordic disposition it's that little bastard. He stocks good mead and ale and meat – none of that elf shit, and he keeps his prices fair."

"Really?" Rathe asked, already keen to be away from the 'helpful' guard.

"Oh sure. And if you tell him Eriic sent you he'll drop his prices even more. Grey skins know who to look after."

Rathe; a master of unspoken threats himself, picked up on the threat implied in the guard's words and understood how things were done in this bleak city. He nodded and for a split second the guard thought he saw something cold and terrible in the man's expression but abruptly Rathe drew a grin to his face and clapped the guard on the shoulder.

"I'll do just that my friend. Thanks for the advice."

"Thank me by buying me a drink one night friend." The guard muttered.

Rathe nodded and flicked one final smile at the guard. He turned his back on the man and instantly his smile fell away. He walked away from the market place and headed back to the main courtyard. He stood still for a moment and observed the traffic in the city and noticed that all figures bearing the distinctive grey skin of the Dunmer were either heading to or from a specific direction.

Rathe turned his feet to that direction and descended into the slums of Windhelm that could only be known as the grey quarter. Refuse littered the streets and urchin Dunmer children with wide red eyes peered down at him from balconies. Rathe kept his hood low as he moved silently through the narrow streets of the quarter. He moved with the same grace inherent to the Elvish and consequently attracted little attention.

He soon came to a door decorated with fluttering banners and bearing a sign written in both Dunmer and Nordic bearing the inscription 'Sadri's Used Wares'. Rathe gazed up at the door and glanced around the dour grey quarter. The frigid temperatures kept gawkers inside and no one hurrying past spared a look at the Shadow-Walker.

Without any more hesitation Rathe entered Sadri's Used Wares.

The interior was warm and dim and Rathe was instantly on alert as his eyesight was dulled by the darkness inside the shop. The smells of the shop – leather and spices – filled his nostrils while the sound of a quill scratching on parchment greeted his keen ears.

"Welcome friend. How can I help you?" A smooth voice said, in the silky accent of the Dunmer people.

Rathe peered into the dim interior and saw the near silhouetted figure of a talk dark elf standing behind his counter, eyeing the Shadow-Walker carefully. Obviously this was the proprietor and dealer of black market wares, Revyn Sadri. Rathe looked into the elf's red eyes and both instantly recognized a fellow practitioner of ill doings and dark deeds.

Rathe didn't even begin to try and play Sadri as he had played the guard. He knew this one was too cunning for that act.

Rathe stepped up to the counter and spoke in his quiet voice.

"I'm looking for information."

Sadri smiled a fake smile.

"We cater to all needs here at Sadri's Used Wares… so long as one has the coin…"

Rathe's hand slid into a pouch and he withdrew several pieces of gold. He let them drop noisily onto the counter and watched the Dunmer's eyes flicker onto the coins. The dark elf neither moved to gather up the coins, nor dismissed their value. He simply remained looking into Rathe's pale eyes.

Coin alone would not loosen the tongue of this one.

Rathe's hand slid down to his hip and tapped the long straight edged blade he had there. Sadri watched the deliberate movement and his throat moved as he swallowed. The Dunmer looked into those cold, hard eyes and knew the man before him was not one to make idle threats. The Dunmer sighed heavily and nodded once.

The Shadow-Walker took this as a sign to continue.

"I've heard your name in connection with a man I am seeking."

Sadri's expression still did not flicker; his exaggerated smile remained plastered on his lips.

"Really? How fascinating. Of course being a merchant my name is probably connected with so many other names. Speak some and we shall see if they resonate with me."

"I don't know this man's name. Only what people refer to him by."

Finally a flicker came to the Dunmer's eyes and he stiffened slightly. Rathe was intrigued by Sadri's body language and spoke two words in a hushed, clipped tone.

"The Albino."

Sadri winced and stepped back from the counter. He moved down the other end of the counter while obviously recomposing his shaken façade and once more leaned against the counter.

"I have heard this moniker. And that's all."

Rathe blinked and continued staring at the Dunmer with his penetrating gaze.

Sadri licked his lips nervously.

"I come into possession of a lot of… 'moved' goods, and these come to me from a variety of sources.

Rathe nodded once and twirled his finger to suggest the dark elf hurry along. Sadri shrugged his thin shoulders.

"What I'm telling you is that my clientele aren't necessarily on the up and up and they mingle with all types of Skyrim citizens."

"Criminals?" Rathe asked.

Sadri nodded.

"Thieves?"

Again the elf nodded.

"Addicts?"

Nod.

"Dealers?" Rathe asked very quietly.

Sadri paused and when he spoke, he spoke the truth. Rathe knew.

"No. Dealers do not frequent my establishment. They move their wares in other ways."

Rathe nodded again and fell silent. The Dunmer, sweating now, glanced at the door and wished someone would come in. This Imperial was unnerving him something terribly; a feat that very rarely happened to the smug and confident dark elf.

Rathe turned those eyes once more on Sadri.

"How then does your name come to be linked with the Albino?"

Sadri's fingers tapped nervously on the edge of his counter and he clicked his tongue against his teeth. He seemed to be wrestling with a dilemma and Rathe was fairly sure what it was; speak a secret and risk retribution or do not speak and risk… well whatever Rathe was going to do to him.

Finally, the dark elf's sense of immediate preservation won over and he slumped, defeated.

"Butcher."

"Excuse me?" Rathe asked coldly.

"Butcher. He's a dealer down in Riften. Sells the goods he… um, acquires, here. Been big mouthing lately that he's a close friend to a high powerful dealer called the Albino.

Rathe's eyes glittered and he moved along the length of the counter, his hand casually sliding down to the hilt of his blade.

"Butcher." He said, tasting the word.

Sadri nodded miserably.

"That's all I know. I swear."

Rathe continued looking at the dark elf and after a very long moment nodded and turned towards the door. Sadri breathed out deeply and mouthed a prayer to Azura. His gleaming red eyes fell across the little pile of coins on the counter.

"Your gold!"

Rathe paused and looked over his shoulder at the dark elf.

"Keep it Dunmer. If anyone comes after you, use it to buy a passage out of Skyrim."

Sadri's look of relief was evident as his long fingered hands reached for the coin.

Quicker than the eye could see, Rathe's straight edged blade hissed from its sheath and came whistling down onto the counter mere inches from the dark elf's hand. Sadri yelped and looked up at the Shadow-Walker.

Rathe leaned in close. He spoke in a low, dangerous tone.

"Keep it… and if you've lied to me… use it to plan your funeral.

With a flick of his wrist, Rathe yanked the steel blade free of the wooden counter and sheathed it again in one smooth, fluid motion. He walked out of Sadri's Used Wares leaving the dark elf shaking and gaping like a beached fish.

Rathe looked up into the sky and judged it was too late in the day to head to Riften now. Instead he turned his footsteps to Candlehearth Hall.

The Hall was overly-warm; stuffy in fact but smelled pleasantly of roasting meat and spices. A drunk was sitting at the bar slurring a heroic tale to the unimpressed tavern owner. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the handsome Shadow-Walker approaching and she spoke straight over the top of the drunk.

"What can I get for you stranger? Meat and mead? A room?"

Rathe flipped a couple of coins on the counter.

"A clean room. Meat and mead."

The proprietor gathered up the coins greedily.

"Common room's upstairs. I'll bring you a plate and tankard sir. I'll show you to your room."

She bustled out from behind the counter and hurried down the hallway with Rathe moving silently behind her. She pushed open a door to a sparse but clean room, if a little stale smelling. The proprietor watched as the Shadow-Walker examined the room and she caught a glimpse of steel at his hip. She recognized the shapes of a bow and quiver beneath his heavy cloak and she also detected the faint traces of alchemical ingredients about the man. Though she was burning with curiosity as to who the stranger might be, Elda Early-Dawn didn't own the most successful tavern in Windhelm by probing her guests.

"If you need anything else let me know. I'll heat a plate for you sir."

She backed out of the room, gently pulling the door closed behind her.

Rathe took a few moments to reorganize his packs before heading upstairs to the common area. He did not remove his weapons, nor his hood or cloak.

Upstairs was even more stifling than below and was filled with noise and laughter as patrons drank and were merry.

Rathe moved quietly around the room stopping beside groups and drifting in and out of conversations. Elda clumped up the stairs, overburdened with a large plate of roast goat, vegetables and a large foaming tankard of mead. Rathe thanked her for the meal and sat down at one of the tables. He picked at the over-cooked roast and devoured the vegetables quickly. The Shadow-Walker held the tankard of mead in his hand but his lips never touched the cool metal and his throat never took in a swallow of the bitter draught. He _never_ touched alcohol.

Rathe pulled back his hood, too warm to wear the confining material. He observed the patrons of the common area and listened to tidbits of information about the town and its citizens. He was fully aware that a lovely barmaid was watching him intently and not for the first time in his life he wished he was much more plain in appearance.

The Shadow-Walker's ears pricked up as he heard the name Sadri and he listened in to a man accusing the dark elf of being involved in smuggling in moon sugar from Khajiit traders. Rathe's eyes roamed the Hall as he listened to the man condemn Sadri to the plains of Oblivion for his black market ways.

In her corner of the room, the barmaid, it seemed, had plucked up the nerve to approach the handsome Shadow-Walker. Rathe turned to her as she approached and allowed his pale eyes to fall on her. Something in those cold depths drained all colour from the wench's cheeks and she suddenly found a reason to veer away from Rathe and head downstairs. Rathe grimly pressed his lips together in a slight smile and made another pretense of drinking the mead.

"I tell you that boy is up to no good!" A shrill voice broke through the general hubbub of the crowd and Rathe couldn't help but tune in.

"He wouldn't really be trying to summon the… the Dark Brotherhood would he?" A woman hissed.

Now Rathe's attention was piqued and he shifted in his chair to get a good look at the two women perched on the table adjacent to him. Both were little more than gossipy noblewomen but their conversation was interesting.

"I heard it from that dark elf wench. The Aretino boy is trying to perform the Black Sacrament!"

The scandal in her tone was evident and both women flushed at the danger inherent in their illicit gossip. Rathe's eyes flashed and he turned back to his mug of mead. He gripped the handle tightly and frowned. _Why would a child want to invoke the Black Sacrament?_

He sat for a few more minutes in the overheated common room before pushing away his blood soaked plate of mostly untouched goat, and climbing to his feet. Rathe wandered back down to his room, distracted and deep in thought. He entered the hired room; his hand dropping to the blade at his side and automatically scanned the area for any threats.

When his room proved to be as empty as it had been when he hired it, Rathe closed the door behind him and mechanically went about settling in for the night. He removed his cloak and unbuckled his sword belt; letting both blades slide free from his hips. He lowered the blades and his bow and quiver onto the dresser – still within reach of the bed.

Rathe turned and sat down on the bed, still deep in thought. He couldn't comprehend why an innocent child would want to invoke the Dark Brotherhood.

Since his arrival in Skyrim, Rathe had been loath to join the Brotherhood in this province; he'd heard that since the fall of the Brotherhood in Cyrodil, the shadowy agency of assassins had declined in structure and purpose. He'd heard disturbing tales of the tennets having been abandoned and the Brotherhood becoming little more than hired thugs out for blood.

Rathe's hand slipped of its own volition into the pocket sewn into the breast of his leather doublet. He fished around in there until his fingers snagged a piece of material. Rathe drew the material from his pocket slowly, reverently, and laid it on his lap. The scrap of material had obviously been taken from what must've been a gaily coloured dress. It was all lilac swirls and floral pinks, delicate, pale and oh so feminine. Rathe stroked the material gingerly as he thought of yet another child becoming corrupted by the influence of the Dark Brotherhood.

Whether the boy performed the Sacrament correctly and drew the Dark Brotherhood to him, or whether he wailed in anguish if they ignored his request; the boy would be tainted by their darkness one way or another.

Rathe tucked the scrap of Regan's dress inside his pocket once more, feeling comforted to have a memento of her so close to his heart.

He laid back on his bed and continued to ruminate.

_Leave it Rathe. You know the direction you must head. Riften._

The advice from his head was sound and calculated; much like the Shadow-Walker himself.

But within the breast of Rathe Decanius beat a fearsome heart, filled with rage and injustice.

He stared up at the ceiling and knew that when the sun went down tonight he would head to the Aretino residence to see a misguided boy.

Hours after his window went dark, Rathe rose from his bed and silently buckled his swords to his hips. He slung his bow on his back and gathered up his cloak and hood. Rathe drew the cowl down low over his eyes and moved with his customary silence to the door. Rathe crept through Candlehearth Hall like a shadow, observing the local drunk sleeping with his head on the bar and drooling down his chin. Elda herself was sitting in a high backed chair near the fireplace with her eyes closed and Rathe paused before her to ensure she really was asleep before his slid through the door of the tavern to the city outside.

Night in Windhelm brought with it a new definition of cold and Rathe pressed his teeth firmly together to keep them from chattering. He tugged his cloak around him and peered into the darkness of the city. Fierce wind blew snow and sleet sideways and not a sole wandered the dark streets of Windhelm. Rathe knew that the guards on patrol duty would barely stray from the comfort of their local barracks tonight, and the whores of the town who usually plied their trade on side streets would likely be ensconced in the same barracks sharing 'warmth' with the guards.

Rathe moved through the darkened streets of Windhelm carefully but quickly, his head down and gloved hands pressed to the blade hilts at his sides. Not a soul crossed his path as he made his way through the winding streets to the Aretino household. He'd discreetly caught a glimpse of Candlehearth Hall's ledger book and caught sight of the address of the Aretino residence; apparently Mister Aretino still owed a debt to the Hall for unpaid wine.

Rathe rounded a corner and caught a blast of biting cold wind in the face. He squinted into the darkness and noticed two figures huddled against the cold, standing directly outside the Aretino residence. Rathe frowned at the complication they presented and crept up silently.

He was heartened to see that neither were wearing cloaks or hoods; surely they couldn't linger long in these frigid temperatures. The small figure was that of a young boy and Rathe's first thought was that this must be the Aretino boy himself. The second figure, a lovely dark elf female was speaking in her sultry accent to the boy and though he couldn't make out every word she said, he heard her call the boy Grimvar

_A concerned friend of the Aretino boy_ he surmised.

Rathe crept ever closer to the two until he could begin to hear the thread of their conversation over the howling wind

"Alright Grimvar, there _is_ something going on in that house. I don't know what it is but we mustn't go in. I know, I know, Aventus is your friend. But he's a strange child. Besides am I not the only friend you need?"

The boy looked down, obviously disappointed but not willing to argue with his elder. He mumbled something unintelligible and the dark elf nodded, satisfied.

"Come." She said and ushered Grimvar away.

Rathe remained hidden in the shadows until they rounded a corner; one could never be sure of children and it was best the boy was completely out of sight before Rathe approached the house.

He slid his lock pick tools into the lock and expertly maneuvered the pick until the mechanism clicked. Rathe cast one final look around then slipped inside the Aretino residence.

It was dark and cold inside the house.

Rathe paused at the foot of a set of stairs and listened. The house creaked and groaned in the wind, and sent the few fat candles that were lit in their sconces flickering and dancing. Faintly Rathe could hear a voice.

The Shadow-Walker climbed the stairs silently in a low crouch. As he moved the voice became louder and clearer.

"Sweet mother, sweet mother, send your child unto me for the sins of the unworthy must be baptized in blood and fear…"

The voice was weary and cracked on the last word. Though the owner of the voice was trying to be strong and sound adult a childish sob broke free.

"So tired!"

Rathe's lips pressed together and his eyes glittered. He crept forward and soon entered a large room lit by a threatening red glow. He peered down a hallway where the glow was strongest and most ominous and watched a young boy kneeling amidst a horror of scattered bones, alchemical ingredients and what looked like human flesh.

Rathe slowly rose to his feet behind the unsuspecting boy who continued alternating between chanting and crying.

The Shadow-Walker moved closer to the boy who was still unaware of the man's presence.

"Boy." Rathe said in his low tone.

The boy jumped, yelped and scrambled to his feet. His face was filthy and he smelled like he hadn't bathed in days. The boy's expression instantly changed from one of fear to elation as he took in the hooded figure before him.

"You came!"

Rathe frowned and was about to speak when the excited boy cut him off.

"I asked the Night Mother to send me one of her children and now here you are an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood!"

The boy's enthusiasm and excitement told the Shadow-Walker the boy would not be dissuaded easily from his path.

"Why did you contact the Brotherhood?"

The boy's face fell and he spoke of a traumatic childhood, the death of his parents and the horrors of being sent to Honorhall Orphanage. Finally he spoke of the brutal Head Mistress of the orphanage, Grelod The Kind.

Rathe listened in silence and wondered how much embellishment the child was making. _Could an old woman really be so very fearsome?_ Doubt must have shown in his eyes as Aventus quickly turned his back on the shadow-walker and yanked his tunic up.

The young boy's back was crisscrossed with whip marks.

"This is from Grelod." The boy said in a shaking voice.

Rathe's eyes narrowed and when he spoke his voice was tight.

"Turn back around lad."

Aventus turned around cautiously.

"Will you do it? Will you kill her?"

Rathe said nothing for a long time. Finally when the boy began to think he was never going to answer, Rathe spoke.

"I'm going to Riften."

The Shadow-Walker turned and strode from the Aretino residence.


	3. The Crone and Death's Advocate

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 3

The Crone and Death's Advocate

_Loredas, 30th of Last Seed_

_Something in the boy's eyes reminded me of Regan. I don't know if it was the desperation or the shadow of misery peering out at me, but I couldn't turn down his misguided request. The dark elf's tip will take me to that den of corruption otherwise known as Riften and as long as I'm in the town, what harm can there be in checking out this Honorhall Orphanage? Maybe I can bring some kind of peace to the lad... that I haven't been able to bring to Regan..._

The journey to Riften was long but surprisingly peaceful. The Shadow-Walker flung back his hood and stowed his cloak well into the early part of the journey and revelled in the warmth of the sun against his skin. He was usually a man of shadow and he had to admit the feeling was warm and comforting.

Rathe travelled easily, well accustomed to living on the road. He moved with an efficient grace and rationed his provisions from Windhelm with discipline born of one who has known hunger in his life.

It wasn't long before the dappled sunlight drifting down on him shifted and the sun began to sink on his second day of travel. Rathe looked off into the distance and noticed that where the sun sank, a town was cast in silhouette.

Riften.

Rathe guided Sicarius to a nearby farm and after a brief conversation with the farmer and an exchange of coin, Rathe left his mount to be cared for by the man and headed toward the city that declared itself to be the home to the Thieves Guild... and other less than savoury characters.

Rathe eyed the main gate and watched the two guards on duty carefully. They handled their weapons easily; loose grip, relaxed and totally at ease. One wore a two day growth of stubble on his chin while the second had a bottle of mead at his feet with no pretence at being hidden.

Rathe frowned. These guards were too relaxed to be Jarl's men. Their pockets were being lined by some other party.

The Shadow-Walker decided he'd rather not pass through the main gate with these two on duty. Surely their first directive was to report strangers passing through the gates rather than 'protecting' the city.

Rathe wandered along the outside wall of the city until he came to a secluded place well shielded by thick foliage. He sized up the wall. It was large and slick with moisturise but the rocks it was made from were jagged and looked to provide adequate foot and handholds. Within moments, the agile man had hoisted himself to the top of the wall and vaulted over the top. He free fell and landed silently and easily on the spongy ground below. Rathe dropped into a crouch and was motionless as he took in the scene around him.

The town was winding down for the day and the air was full of the sounds of vendors hawking their last perishable wares, children being called in for supper and shutters being closed as the temperature began to cool.

The Shadow-Walker moved through the town silently, ducking behind objects as people moved about their day and remaining well hidden from view. Rathe kept to the back alleys and boardwalk beneath the city to move about, neither skulking life a thief nor walking along like a braggart. He simply moved with purpose and kept his head down. His pale eyes peered out from beneath his hood as he moved, taking in everything.

Rathe climbed a set of rotting stairs and emerged on solid ground in front of a cold, austere looking building. A rusty metal sign above the door of the building creaked in the wind.

Honorhall Orphanage.

Rathe spent a couple of moments looking at the building. This end of town seemed oddly devoid of life; even the birds in the trees refused to twitter here. With the sun sunken behind the horizon, the orphanage wore a grim, cold mask and was certainly not the inviting place where a woman titled 'The Kind' would live.

Rathe made his way to the high wall surrounding the orphanage yard. He wondered briefly why such a high wall was necessary then realised it was probably in place to keep the children inside. He listened hard but could hear no voices or noises from the other side of the wall.

The Shadow-Walker coolly glanced around and satisfied that no one was paying attention to him reached up and took hold of the iron railing at the top of the wall. He hoisted himself up smoothly and dropped into the yard on the other side.

Rathe looked around the ill-kempt garden and moved quietly to the far end of the yard where he nestled amongst some dense foliage and kept a close eye on the door to the building. One of the windows above him was open a crack and Rathe tuned in to the sounds coming from within the orphanage.

The Shadow-Walker crouched in the muddied ground beneath that open window for hours as dusk gave way to dark and listened to Grelod The Kind seal her doom.

Rathe listened impassively as the old crone screamed at the children and berated them to work tirelessly inside the building. His lips pressed together firmly as he listened to a young boy receive a beating that would make a stoic warrior wail. The Shadow-Walker's fists clenched as the old woman accused her submissive maid servant of theft and threatened to turn the young woman out onto the streets. Finally, after a nightmarish hour of sobbing from a whipped little girl had ceased all was silent in the orphanage; its occupants exhausted, miserable and asleep.

Rathe stretched his arms to get the blood flowing again into his muscles and silently crept forward. He slid through the darkness to the door and reached out with a gloved hand to try the handle.

Locked.

Of course.

The Shadow-Walker opened his pouch and pulled out a set of silver lock picking tools. He found that silver picks slid into locks better than steel and produced less noise when opening a lock. Within moments the lock clicked and the door handle gave way.

Rathe entered the orphanage and gently closed the door behind him. The dim room he entered was home to four or five sleeping youngsters. Despite a glow in the fireplace, the room was cold and none of the children had furs covering them.

Rathe's keen sense of smell detected blood, urine and faeces. What a house of horror this was.

The Shadow-walker glided through the room noiselessly; pausing beside a few beds and looking at the thin, gaunt faces of the children that lay in fitful sleep. Rathe shook his head and kept moving toward the room branching off from this central room. He stepped into the small room and heard the deep breathing of Grelod The Kind. Rathe paused at the doorway, watching the old woman as she lay on her bed.

He turned around and gently closed the doors, sealing himself in with Grelod.

Rathe eased himself over to the snoring woman and watched her in her sleep.

Sleep erased a lot of the malice and cruelty from her features and she looked like nothing more than a tired old lady. She murmured in her sleep and raised a hand feebly then went back to snoring once more. Rathe wondered how terrified of her the children would be if they could see her like this; vulnerable, peaceful… pathetic.

The Shadow-Walker unslung his bow silently and withdrew an arrow from his quiver. He nocked the arrow and leaned in close to the old woman.

Another man might have been hesitant to loose an arrow into a sleeping old woman.

Rathe didn't blink.

The arrow dove deep into the old woman's stomach and she opened her eyes and mouth at the same time and released an inarticulate sound that was a cross between a cry of pain and a shriek of terror.

_Fool. You know to go for the throat! Stops them making a sound!_ Rathe berated himself.

He slung his bow across his back and elegantly leapt onto Grelod's desk then hoisted himself onto the top of her wardrobe. He ducked low as he heard footsteps pounding along the boards towards the room.

Grelod's doors were flung open and a group of dirty faces with wide eyes peered in.

"Grelod?" One young boy asked in a halting tentative voice.

Silence greeted him and after a moment he crept further into the room and approached the woman lying on the bed.

From his vantage point up on the wardrobe, Rathe could see the emotions cross the boy's face as he went around the other side of the bed and leaned over Grelod. Terror at being in her room; confusion at seeing the sticky red mess spreading out across her bed clothes; elation at the dawning realisation that Grelod The Kind was dead.

"She's dead." He whispered, unable to remove his gaze from that single arrow sticking out of her belly.

"She's dead!" He cried, finally tearing his gaze away to look at his fellows. The young boy gave a whoop of pure joy and jumped onto the bed. Grelod's limp body flopped about almost obscenely as the boy jumped up and down. His excitement was contagious and within seconds the other children had taken up the chant 'she's dead' and were jumping around the room with glee.

A slightly older boy grinned widely and nodded vigorously.

"He did it! Aventus did it! He got the Dark Brotherhood to kill Grelod!"

Rathe couldn't quite suppress a smile as he lay atop the wardrobe watching the children enjoy their new found liberation. The maid servant, so beaten down herself was nowhere to be seen and Rathe only hoped she would remain tucked away until after he left; the children were not apt to seek the guards assistance tonight but he couldn't predict what the hysterical maid servant might do. He didn't fancy having to kill her needlessly.

After at least an hour of jubilation and some pretty lewd acts done to Grelod's body, the children tired and started to head back to their beds. Rathe waited patiently for another hour as the children settled once more into sleep before he climbed down from the wardrobe.

The Shadow-Walker moved through the orphanage that no longer seemed quite as cold and oppressive as it had previously, and looked down at the children in their beds. Each one had fallen asleep with a smile adorning their lips.

Rathe hoped they would continue to smile when the harsh light of day brought with it the reality that although Grelod The Kind was dead, another Grelod would be waiting in the wings to swoop in and make their lives miserable once more.

That was the cold hard fact about life.


	4. Corruption and a Jarl's Assistance

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 4

Corruption and a Jarl's Assistance

_Sundas, 31__st__ of Last Seed_

That old harridan Grelod is dead and I must let the Aretino boy know, but first I have to follow up on the lead Sadri provided… a man named Butcher who is somehow connected to The Albino. I would usually wonder where to begin to seek out such an unsavoury character but huh, this is Riften… I only have to spit to find such a character in this town…

Rathe knew the moment he walked into the Bee and Barb who he needed to speak to.

She leaned against a wall with an impetuous air, her face half hidden by shadows and watched with cool eyes as the locals drank and talked.

He watched her watching the room and waited until her deep blue eyes fell on him. Her expression changed to one of surprise as she realised he was watching her. The expression abruptly changed as she raised one eyebrow superciliously at him.

Rathe wandered over to the woman and noticed that she stiffened as he approached. One hand slipped beneath her tunic and he guessed she was fingering a concealed dagger. Rathe had neither the time, patience nor inclination to play the game with this woman. His hand struck like a snake and he yanked her wrist sideways viciously.

The woman gasped but to her credit did not cry out and draw attention to them. Half hidden as they were in the shadows with Rathe's body blocking the light, no one would have been able to see that the Shadow-Walker had her quite incapacitated.

"What do you want?" She said through gritted teeth as Rathe held her wrist in one strong hand.

"Information." He said in his low, dulcet tone.

The woman nodded once curtly, indicating that he continue.

"I'm looking for Butcher."

The woman's face screwed up in distaste.

"You some kind of Skooma head?"

Rathe's eyes glittered and he couldn't resist twisting her wrist a little more. The woman whimpered.

"Alright, alright! Look, I don't know where that vile worm bases himself these days. You'd need to speak with someone from the Riften Skooma Den."

"There's a Skooma Den in Riften?"

The woman nodded almost exasperatedly.

"There's a den of _everything_ in Riften. You want information on the Riften Skooma Den, go talk to Wujeeta. She's out of her head on Skooma most of the time. She'll be able to tell you who's supplying it…"

Rathe looked deep into the woman's lovely eyes and finally let go of her wrist. She immediately rubbed her red skin and looked up into Rathe's pale eyes.

"I don't need to tell you not to mention this conversation with anyone?" He asked in that quiet tone of his.

The woman shivered.

"I know when to keep my mouth shut."

Rathe nodded and turned on his heel. He strode away from her without another word.

Sapphire watched as he paid for a room with gold coin and trudged upstairs. He didn't bother flicking one final glance at her and despite the fact that he was rakishly handsome… she was glad he didn't.

* * *

The following dawn bathed Riften in brilliance and nearly succeeded in erasing all taint from the corrupt city. Rathe found himself wandering Riften's docks as the morning rays warmed him.

A discreet conversation with Keerava, the Argonian who owned and ran the Bee and Bard revealed that Wujeeta was herself Argonian, and worked the local fishery; where no doubt her skills beneath the water were somewhat in demand. Keerava had little else favourable to say about Wujeeta and made it clear that if Rathe had business with her it could only be business about one thing.

Rathe found himself conflicted about how to approach the Skooma addicted Wujeeta. On one hand he needed information from her and could collect it as he had with Sapphire; brutally, coldly and efficiently. On the other hand… some part of the assassin would always harbour deep pity for those poor souls who feel into Skooma's dark embrace. A remnant of his unresolved feelings towards his father no doubt.

"Hey, what are you doing round here." A deep, droll voice cut into the Shadow-Walker's thoughts.

Rathe glanced over at the armored mercenary who spoke.

The man was puffed up, literally and figuratively and obviously believed himself to be someone important. Rathe didn't care who the man was; just that he was paying far too much attention to the Shadow-Walker.

Rathe stepped over to the man who tapped himself on the chest importantly.

"Name's Maul. And I don't like people wandering around my town without me knowing what they're up to. Especially round here."

Rathe looked coolly into the man's eyes.

"I'm looking for the Fishery."

Maul's lip curled up.

"After a nice piece of halibut for your supper huh?"

Rathe looked at the man for a very long moment. Each heartbeat that went past saw Maul become more and more uncomfortable beneath that penetrating gaze.

"Something like that."

Maul frowned as a shiver passed through his body and he jerked his head towards a large building.

"There's the fishery. Mind that you head straight there and then leave the dockside stranger."

Rathe's lips twisted into the tiniest smile which somehow unsettled the mercenary more.

"Thank you." Rathe said politely. He continued staring at Maul for another moment then turned and headed straight to the fishery.

"Damn provincials." Maul muttered and watched as Rathe moved silently into the fishery.

Rathe was immediately hit with the stench of fish as he entered the Riften Fishery. Not a man who particularly cared for the taste of fish at the best of times, Rathe found the smell overwhelming. He wrinkled his nose and looked about the large creaking building.

Men and women were at work hauling and gutting and the atmosphere was bustling. Rathe stepped backwards to allow a boy hefting a sack of innards to shuffle past. The Shadow-Walker grimaced at the smell and glanced around trying to identify Wujeeta.

He spied the scaly woman leaning on a rail, one hand pressed against the side of her head.

Rathe wandered across to her and studied her as he approached. Her dress was stained and patched and although made of once rich material it now looked old and past its prime. He noticed the hand pressed against the side of her head shook as she tugged at the collar of her dress. Sheen of sweat slicked her scales and although it was warm in the fishery, Rathe doubted the work alone was enough to soak this Argonian. _Withdrawal_.

"Wujeeta?" He asked quietly as he approached.

The Argonian jumped and twisted to face him, her eyes wide and panicky.

"What? What is it?" She said in a rasping deep voice.

Rathe raised his hands, palm out and approached slowly as one might approach a nervous horse.

"You are Wujeeta aren't you?"

The Argonian's eyes narrowed.

"Why? What's it to you?"

Rathe moved closer to her and now he could smell her; fish and despair, a pungent combination.

"I need information Wujeeta… and perhaps I can help you…"

The Argonian frowned and looked into the man's pale eyes. She was terrified of this handsome stranger; he had a bleak aura about him. But something in his tone caught her attention and she felt oddly reassured by his presence.

Rathe's hand slipped into his pouch and he withdrew a small phial. The liquid inside the bottle was reddish, like watered down wine but thick and viscous. He offered the bottle to the Argonian who looked at it suspiciously.

"What is it?" She rasped.

"Something that will make you feel better."

The Argonian frowned and made no move to take the bottle.

"Something that will stop the shaking. Something that will halt the nightmares… something that will take away the pain Wujeeta."

The Argonian looked up into his eyes, her own now wide as saucers. Her mouth fell open revealing her sharp teeth and she whispered, "How could you know?"

Rathe shook the bottle gently setting the liquid splashing playfully against the glass.

"Take it Wujeeta."

She reached out her clawed hand and hesitated before finally taking hold of the phial. She took it from his hand and looked deep into his eyes once more. Rathe nodded to her and she knew he was not trying to trick her; this elixir would help.

"How can I thank you?"

"Stay away from the Skooma." Rathe answered and a note of fierce coldness had entered his voice.

Wujeeta shivered.

"Have no fear on that score. I'll never touch the vile stuff again."

Rathe nodded and gazed into her eyes. She looked down, embarrassed, ashamed and full of self-doubt.

"One more thing…" Rathe said.

Wujeeta looked up quickly.

"Anything…"

"Where did you get it?"

The Argonian's expression told Rathe in an instant of her conflicted emotions; she'd just promised to help him no matter what the cost, yet there was real terror there at spilling some secret. The Shadow-Walker's blood tingled within his veins.

Wujeeta breathed out deeply and grappled with her dilemma. She looked down at the phial in her hand and made her decision.

"Walk with me land-strider."

* * *

Rathe entered the Hall of Jarl Laila Law-Giver without fanfare just as the court were settling in for their midday meal. The smells of fine food pervaded the air and were accompanied by the clank of knives and forks on psilver platters. Rathe ignored the diners and stalked up to the great dining table.

The Jarl's steward immediately scraped her chair backwards and leapt up from the table to intercept the Shadow-Walker as he approached.

"The Jarl is not seeing anyone at this time. You'll need to come back- "

Rathe kept walking past the talking woman without casting a glance at her. He strode right along the great dining table, his gaze fixed on the Jarl.

Nervous guards fingered their weapons and started to step forward. The Jarl shook her head imperceptibly at her guards and turned to watch the attractive man sauntering towards her. She felt extremely comfortable in her position of Jarl of Riften and doubted anyone in Skyrim would have the stupidity to openly attack her in her own dining hall.

She leaned back in her chair and watched him approach.

"What's so important that you disrupt my supper stranger?"

Her tone was neither dismissive nor particularly welcome.

Rathe continued approaching until he was mere feet away from the seated Jarl. He looked down at her impassively. Laila now conceded that the nearness of the man was certainly unsettling. He was obviously armed and worse, his face was home to two cold, pale eyes that seemed to look almost through her.

"I need the key to the Riften Warehouse. I understand you have the only key?"

Jarl Laila snorted with laughter and leaned back in her chair.

"And why would I turn over the key to one of Riften's most amply stocked warehouses to a vagrant who I've never seen before this day?"

Rathe's lips pressed together and he simply looked at the Jarl.

"Because this _vagrant_ is going to rid you of Sarthis Idren and shut down the Skooma trade in Riften without drawing attention to the fact that you knew of this operation and were powerless to do anything about it."

The Jarl's expression darkened with anger and the chatter around the table fell abruptly silent. Laila slowly reached into her breast pocket and withdrew a heavy key. She considered Rathe for a long moment then slung the key at him. The Shadow-Walker caught the key and nodded to her.

He turned and strode down the length of the table towards the doors, aware with every step that Laila Law-Keeper's furious gaze was on him.

* * *

Rathe never had a chance to talk with Sarthis Idren; the dark elf attacked the moment the Shadow-Walker entered the warehouse. Rathe's blades sang as he danced to the side and gracefully ended the dark elf's life with a well-aimed slice to the throat. The dark elf gurgled as he slid to the floor.

A hired thug who made the ill informed decision to attack the Shadow-Walker soon joined the dark elf on the floor; their blood mingling together as it seeped through the floorboards to drip into the cellar below.

Rathe crept through the warehouse, keeping his blades ready should another fool decide to come forth to taste his steel. None did.

The Shadow-Walker crept down to the cellar where all he could hear was the drip of blood splashing on the stone floor from the floorboards above. He moved methodically through the dark cellar, checking barrels and crates for clues about the Skooma operation. He came to a crude desk pressed up against one wall covered in bottles of Skooma, bags of coin and a curled note. Rathe ignored the coin and Skooma and unfurled the note.

_Sarthis,_

_Just got in a shipment of Moonsugar from Morrowind. We're refining it now, and the Skooma should be ready by the time you get to Cragslane Cavern. Bring the gold or don't show up at all._

_Butcher_

The Shadow-Walker re-read the note then folded it neatly in half and tucked it into his breast pocket. He turned on his heel and strode out of the warehouse, carefully stepping over the two dead bodies as he went.

* * *

"Sarthis Idren is dead and I can stop the flow of Skooma into Riften if you point me in the direction of Cragslane Cavern."

The entire hall was silent as they waited for the Jarl's answer.

Laila looked at Rathe with a self-satisfied expression.

"And what do you want in return for this assistance Mister Decanius?"

If Rathe was surprised that Laila had managed to trace his origins he did not show it.

"My reasons for doing this are my own. Rest assured Jarl, I will not hold Riften to any debt for this service."

Laila's eyes narrowed and she shifted uncomfortably in her throne. The truth was that aside from his name, Laila's spies had found very little information on the man standing before her. She suspected the years he was missing from the historical archives were years he spent with some shadowy organization. Thieves Guild? No, she'd know of him if he belonged to _them_. Wrong race to be Aldmeri Dominion. Her gold would be wagered on either the Penitus Oculatus or… the Dark Brotherhood.

Either way, best not to irritate the man.

"Very well Mister Decanius. See my steward and she will mark on your map the location of Cragslane Cavern."

Rathe nodded and began to turn away. Laila held up a hand and continued.

"However, the great city of Riften does not let good deeds go unrewarded."

The Jarl reached out and plucked a heavy bag of gold from the table at her side. She tossed the bag to Rathe who made no move to catch it. The bag landed heavily on the floor spilling some of its coins noisily on the stone steps. Rathe didn't look down at the bag at his feet. Instead he took one step up towards Jarl Laila's throne.

"I don't want you coin. I don't want you friendship. I want you to forget you ever heard the name Decanius, and I want your steward to show me Cragslane Cavern."

Laila swallowed and squirmed beneath those penetrating pale eyes.

"Done." She managed to squeak from her dry throat.

Rathe nodded and turned on his heel. He strode away from the Jarl, the toe of his boot catching on a gold coin and sending it spinning down the stairs.

Jarl Laila motioned to her steward to lean in to her.

"Go and show him where to find Cragslane Cavern. Quickly."

The steward bowed deeply and hurried after Rathe. Laila's eyes passed over the coins on the floor and she called out angrily, "And someone clean that up!"


	5. The Butcher and a Dead End

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 5

The Butcher and a Dead End

_Tirdas, 2__nd__ of Heart Fire_

_It's good to leave the city behind me and be back in the wilderness again. The air is so clean after that filthy Riften air of smoke and death. My footsteps take me close now to Cragslane Cavern where I will meet with a man styling himself as the Butcher. Mayhap I can finally get some answers that will lead me closer to The Albino, though I doubt a man calling himself Butcher will be keen to provide answers. No doubt I'll have to persuade him… Gods let me have to persuade him… _

Another sunset was approaching as Rathe silently dispatched a roving wolf that stood between him and the path towards Cragslane Cavern. Unwilling to waste a good pelt, Rathe set to work skinning the animal; relishing in the manual work as a way to distract him from thoughts about what he would find at the Cavern.

Ever a practical man, Rathe was not one for whom daydreaming and worrying about the future was a common way to spend his idle hours. However as he drew closer to learning about the whereabouts of the Albino, the Shadow-Walker found he was having more and more difficulty controlling his tumultuous thoughts.

As he ripped into the wolf's hide his thoughts tumbled about in his mind; _would Butcher know where the Albino was? Would the Albino still be alive? If he found him, would he know where Regan was… was she still alive?_

The knife slipped in his hand and tore through the skin, irreversibly wrecking the hide. Rathe threw the knife down in disgust and slowly stood, looking at the ruined skin.

The Shadow-Walker drew in a deep breath and bent down to retrieve his knife. The grassy area he stood was now soaked through with wolf blood and he decided to simply move on before night fell. Rathe slung his bow over his shoulder and continued on; his mind now focused on moving silently through the woods.

Night was wrapping her fingers over the world when Rathe finally came to a campsite at the entrance of a yawning cave. He looked down at his map and reckoned he was standing directly before Cragslane Cavern. He hung back in the shadows and watched the camp for a few moments.

Aside from a wolf penned up in a cage there seemed to be no life at the camp. He suspected the men supposedly on guard duty were probably inside the cavern, no doubt supping or drinking.

Rathe moved into the firelight of the campfire and looked about carefully.

Bed rolls were rumpled but were crawling with ants and bugs.

_They haven't been slept in for some time. _

A metal pan was suspended over the campfire and when Rathe peered in he saw a charred blackened mess that was all that was left of someone's stew.

_This place hasn't been used in days._

A whining from the cage made Rathe turn and he looked into the wolf's eyes. The beast was thin and salivating, and alternated between whining at him and growling. Rathe wondered how long the beast had been reached out and slid the bolt on the cage and tentatively opened the door. The wolf watched the man warily as he stepped back. Rathe retreated a few more steps and waited patiently as the skittish creature hesitantly stepped out of the cage. The wolf gazed at him with wide yellow eyes, snarled then turned and dashed off into the woods.

Faint echoes came to Rathe's ears as he watched the wolf and he swung his attention back to the yawning cave before him. He listened and could just make out the sounds of voices echoing up through the blackness.

The Shadow-Walker unslung his bow and crept into the cave.

* * *

A bored bandit stood near the mouth of the cave scuffing the ground with the toe of his boot. He was in a foul mood at having drawn guard duty tonight. He knew the gambling would be fine form tonight and had coin in his pocket he wanted to spend.

Self-righteous indignation was the last feeling the bandit even felt.

_Pfft_

An arrow hissed through the air and sank deep into the bandit's chest.

_Pfft_

Before the bandit could scream a second arrow took him in the throat. As the bandit spun around and started to drop a third arrow burrowed into his back

_Pfft_

Rathe crept forward out of the shadows and moved silently past the dead bandit.

The Shadow-Walker delved deeper into the cavern, feeling his way in the near pitch darkness. As he moved, the sounds of revelry grew louder.

Rathe continued on until he came to a large cavern lit with flickering torchlight. He peered down into the cavern and took in the scene before him. At least eight men were milling about; some engaged in gambling, other imbibing Skooma and others watching pit wolves tear at each other noisily.

The smells of roasting meat, blood and Skooma washed over Rathe and he was forcibly reminded of the night The Albino had taken his father, his sister and his innocence.

Cold rage welled up in the Shadow-Walker and he fitted an arrow into his bowstring and pulled back.

The first three men were down and dead before anyone even knew there was a sniper amongst them.

Chaos erupted and men alternated between shrieking and ducking for cover, and drawing weapons and charging. Rathe stepped out of the shadows and drew his own twin blades. He spun and flicked both blades out and took down two more men with matching spurts of blood.

As he twirled to avoid a clumsy sword thrust, Rathe glanced around trying to determine which one (if any) of these fiends was Butcher. The slack jawed, dead-eyed men certainly struck him as Skooma addicts, but he doubted they were dealers. The final two men standing watched the Shadow-Walker spinning his blades like some kind of demon straight from the plains of Oblivion and after one quick glance at one another, threw their own weapons down and ran past him out of the cavern.

Rathe let them go, knowing that neither was the man he sought.

He sheathed his blades and moved quietly about the gambling den, looking at everything. Empty and full bottles of Skooma lay around and piles of Moonsugar glinted in the torchlight. Bags and bags of coin were stacked alongside barrels containing mead, ale and wine. Rathe ignored it all and continued moving through the cavern.

He came to a smaller tunnel that led away from the main cavern area and he started down the tunnel. Torchlight down the end illuminated some kind of living quarters. Rathe's blood tingled and he instinctively knew he would find Butcher here.

Rathe slid out of the shadows at the other end of the tunnel and spied a massive orc leaning over a table, engrossed in the task of refining a batch of Moonsugar. On his hip he wore an oversized cleaver and Rathe knew why he styled himself Butcher.

The Shadow-Walker pulled his blades from their sheaths without allowing either one to hiss, and stood silently behind the orc.

"Butcher."

Though his pitch was low, the orc reacted instantly and spun around in a fluid motion at the same time as he drew the cleaver from his belt.

"Boy did you make a big mistake." The orc growled and began stalking towards Rathe.

"Wait! I don't want trouble. I just need information." Rathe said, stepping backwards as he spoke.

The orc's tiny eyes narrowed further.

"You _got_ trouble pal!"

Butcher slammed his cleaver down and Rathe twisted away in time to avoid having his head cleaved in two. The Shadow-Walker continued spinning away as Butcher whipped his cleaver left and right, missing the man and harmlessly slicing the air. Rathe brought both blades down in an X and forced the cleaver down into the dirt. He brought the hilt of his blade up sharply, smacking the wood into the orc's face. One of the orc's teeth cracked and he screamed in pain as blood poured from his now shattered nose.

"Wait!" Rathe said again. "I just want to- "

The orc screamed and lunged at Rathe, the cleaver once again high in his hands and coming down at the Shadow-Walker fast. Rathe dropped into a crouch and avoided the blow and swung his leg out to kick the orc as he flew past. Propelled by his own momentum and by the kick from Rathe, the orc flew forward and smacked chest first against a weapons rack attached to the wall.

The orc's scream cut off abruptly and was replaced by a horrible gurgling sound.

Rathe dashed forward and looked at the twitching orc who was impaled on two feet of Nordic spear. Blood gushed from the orc's nose and mouth and his body flopped about helplessly like a spitted pig.

Rathe swore violently and yanked the orc's head around so he was face to face with the man.

"The Albino! Do you know him? Do you know where he is! Butcher!"

Recognition flashed in the orc's eyes and his lips flapped like a fish out of water but no sound came from them. Rathe shook the orc roughly but it was too late. The death stare had come to the orc's eyes and his lungs drew in their last breath of air before blood filled them.

Rathe let go of the dead orc whose weight was too much for the weapons rack and the whole thing came clattering down.

"Gods damned sonofawhore!" Rathe swore and in an uncharacteristic display of raw emotion viciously kicked the dead orc. Ribs crunched sickeningly beneath his boot and the Shadow-Walker did it again for good measure.

Rathe finally calmed himself and turned away from the dead body. He felt defeated and angry but forced himself to look around the orc's sleeping quarters. He knew how stupid it was to expect a map to the Albino's hideout, or a letter signed by the man himself but Rathe was still gutted when the search of the orc's sleeping quarters revealed nothing but Skooma, coin and a statue to Malacath.

Rathe leaned heavily against a wall of the cavern and tried to quell his frustration and disappointment. He slowly moved through the tunnel back to the main cavern again.

The dejected Shadow-Walker was about to head to the mouth of the cave when he noticed a curious sigil on the cloak of one of the dead gamblers. He bent down and looked at the sigil in the flickering torchlight. It appeared to be some kind of galley.

Rathe frowned. He'd never seen the sigil before but wondered if it had some significance. With nothing else to go on, he decided to take it with him anyway. He ripped the material free from the dead body and stowed it in one of his packs.

Rathe headed out of Cragslane Cavern and retraced his footsteps to Riften.

He needed to find someone who might know about this sigil.

* * *

"The East Empire Company." Jarl Laila said after examining the piece of blood-stained materiel.

Rathe frowned.

"East Empire Company… who are they?"

Laila's lips twitched.

"You really haven't been in Skyrim long have you?"

Rathe's frown deepened and Laila was reminded that this was a man who valued his privacy. She coughed and hurriedly continued.

"The East Empire Company is a merchant guild that have the monopoly on imports and exports in Skyrim. Well across all of Tamriel to be honest. They import and export _difficult to acquire goods_ and are operated and funded in part by the Emperor himself."

"Why would someone from this reputable Company be in a Skooma den?" Rathe asked quietly.

Laila raised her eyebrows.

"You have to ask? Come now. You're a man of the world. You know how things work surely…"

Rathe's eyes narrowed as he considered what she'd said.

"Thet export _difficult to acquire goods_… you mean?"

Laila nodded.

"Why not? They already deal in Kwama Eggs, Marshmerrow pulp, Saltrice, and Telvanni Bug Musk. Why not Skooma too?"

Rathe nodded and said nothing for a moment. Finally, he looked back at the Jarl with those cold eyes of his.

"Where can I find this East Empire Company?"

The Jarl shook her head in warning.

"You really don't want to be messing with the Company… they're not some small time Skooma dealers you know."

Rathe leaned close to her and whispered, "Where?"

Laila breathed in the masculine scent of the man and was lost in his pale eyes. She felt a stirring deep inside that she hadn't felt for years and a flush came to her cheeks. He really was unbelievably good looking, and all man…

_Oh Laila, get a grip! He's young enough to be your son!_

The Jarl sighed instead.

"They have a warehouse in Solitude but their headquarters are located in Windhelm."

Rathe nodded and straightened up.

"But please… forget this nonsense. If it's cleaning up scum that you're into I can provide you with more than enough work to keep you satisfied here!"

A rare smile came to Rathe's lips. It hadn't escaped his notice when the Jarl's cheeks flushed with colour.

"Though I don't doubt that you could… satisfy… me Jarl Laila… my place is not in Riften."

The Jarl flushed again and lowered her gaze.

When she looked back up, the Shadow-Walker was gone.


	6. Threats Made and Debts Paid

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 6

Threats Made and Debts Paid

_Fredas, 5__th__ of Heart Fire_

_I've paused in my journey back to Windhelm to break the news to the Aretino boy that his soul is forever besmirched; he wished for the life of another to be snuffed out and it has been done. Sicarius needed a rest and I find myself drawn to that scrap of cloth I recovered from Cragslane Cavern. I trace the pattern of the sails of the galley and wonder if this East Empire Company might hold some answers for me. _

_Time to put charcoal and parchment away; a man approaches –_

A breathless courier dashed along the path towards Rathe who waited for him with one hand hidden beneath his cloak resting on the hilt of his blade. Rathe himself had posed as a courier on numerous occasions during his past life with the Dark Brotherhood in an attempt to get close to unsuspecting mark. As the young man approached Rathe breathed easier and released his hold on his sword hilt. This lad was well and truly a courier; his eyes were filled with the self-assurance of a youth charged with what he perceived as being an important task - and more importantly, were not home to the blank, coldness that filled an assassin's eyes.

"I have a message for you sir; I've been tracking you for days!"

If the lad hoped Rathe would be impressed with his tracking ability he was sorely disappointed when the Shadow-Walker simply raised his brows and held his hand out for the missive.

The lad made a great show of digging around in his satchel and finally pulling out a rolled up note.

He handed it to Rathe and prattled on.

"Don't know who it was from sir, creepy guy in a black robe. Didn't say anything except to make sure the man traveling on a black steed towards Windhelm, hooded and cloaked in dark furs received this post haste."

Rathe looked at the rolled up note then pointedly looked back at the courier. The lad felt uncomfortable beneath that pale stare and swallowed nervously. He was obviously waiting for some kind of tip from the Shadow-Walker but after an uncomfortable moment passed, he realised he would get no extra coin for this delivery, so sighed and stammered, "Well, can't linger; many more important deliveries to make!"

He turned and dashed off, feet slipping out from under him on the slick icy path and nearly crashing to the ground.

Rathe waited until the courier scurried well away before turning his attention to the note. He looked at the parchment in his gloved hand and examined the black dob of sealing wax that had been used to protect the contents from unwanted eyes. No seal had been stamped into the wax which Rathe found unusual and for some reason set the hairs on the back of his neck to standing on end in alarm.

Light flurries of snow began to whisper down through the darkened, heavy sky and Rathe pulled his cloak tighter around him. The weather had steadily grown fouler as he approached Windhelm.

Rathe removed his gloves carefully and with cold fingers gently broke the wax seal. He unfurled the note and his breath caught in his throat.

Two words above a handprint glared up at him from the parchment.

_We know. _

Rathe held the missive and pondered how this might affect him. Anger surged through him that he had managed to entwine himself once again with the Dark Brotherhood; an organisation that embodied so much angst, adoration, hatred and respect from the Shadow-Walker. A small part of him was impressed that the Brotherhood in Skyrim had managed to trace him to the deed; from what he'd heard, the Brotherhood in Skyrim was not much of an organisation at all. Finally, the Shadow-Walker wondered if the Brotherhood may be the perfect place for him to ensconce himself whilst continuing his search for the Albino - they certainly had had the networks and resources in Cyrodil with which he had been able to if not _find_ the Albino, but to begin tracking him.

Rathe eventually folded the note carefully and placed it into a pouch that already held the scrap of material from Cragslane Cavern, and a piece of fabric torn from a pretty dress and long fondled by a desperate brother.

Rathe turned to Sicarius and firmly patted the horse's neck.

"Come on old friend. On to Windhelm." He murmured, attending to the task of saddling the stallion and preparing himself for the final leg of the journey. With any luck, he could hit the city before the worst of the winter storm dumped its load from the clouds above.

* * *

This time the Aretino boy had left his front door unlocked.

Rathe entered the premises quietly and unseen. He frowned that the boy had so flippantly left the door unlatched; the Shadow-Walker had heard talk of a killer prowling the streets of Windhelm. He wondered if the boy thought himself under some sort of protection from the Brotherhood; protection that made him immune to death? Rathe shook his head and crept up the stairs of the Aretino residence with a natural stealth that he couldn't shake even though he knew the boy would be keen to see him again.

Sure enough, the boy was waiting impatiently and bounced up from his seated position when Rathe came into view.

"Well? Is she…"

Rathe stared into the boy's eyes and nodded once, curtly.

The boy let out a whoop and shouted, "I knew you could do it! Grelod's dead!"

Rathe watched the jubilant child without any expression across his face. He wondered how the boy would feel in the wee hours of the morning when the enormity of what he'd had done finally sank in. When lying there beneath his thin blanket, shivering in the chill it came to Aventus that he was the cause behind a candle being extinguished.

For the moment, the boy was simply delighted.

He finally noticed the Shadow-Walker watching him grimly and calmed his youthful enthusiasm.

"Oh, payment! You want payment?"

Before Rathe could answer, the boy dashed back to the room where the oddments were still scattered about the floor in the leftover pattern of the black sacrament. Rathe followed the boy, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the now decaying human flesh rotting on the floor. Aventus was digging around in a sack on the floor, muttering to himself.

"Ah!" The boy cried and pulled out a large, heavy pewter plate.

He hefted the plate up and turned to Rathe.

"This is for you. It should fetch you a nice price!"

Rathe looked at the heirloom and made no move to take it. The boy frowned and glanced at the plate then back at Rathe.

"Take it!"

Rathe shook his head.

"No boy. You cannot pay this debt with coin. You can only pay this debt in blood."

A look of terror passed over Aventus's face and he took a step backwards.

"But… but…"

Rathe shook his head again.

"Not your blood. Not now. One day, blood will be demanded. And on that day you will remember Grelod The Kind and you must will decide whether it was worth it."

Aventus frowned in confusion. When he spoke, his voice was weak and childish.

"I don't understand!"

A grim smile touched Rathe's lips.

"You will child."

Rathe turned to leave. He felt a small tug on his cloak and looked down to see the boy tentatively holding the fur. Aventus dropped his hand as though he'd been burned.

"What… what do I do now?"

Rathe looked at the young boy whose parents were deceased and only driving force in his life – to kill Grelod – ended. The Shadow-Walker suddenly saw himself as a youth and wondered how things might have turned out for him had it not been for the dark elf, Vaden Dren who took him into the embrace of the Dark Brotherhood.

Rathe slowly crouched down on his haunches so that he looked Aventus directly in the eye.

"Could you kill again boy?" He asked in a deathly whisper.

Aventus's eyes widened in horror and he gaped like a fish. After a few moments he finally shrugged his shoulders. Rathe nodded and pressed his lips together. He reached into his breast pocket – past the scrap of material that meant so much to him, and the piece of cloth that may in time mean more – and pulled out a bag of coins. He dipped into the bag and withdrew a few gold pieces. Rathe reached out and snatched up the boy's hand – well aware that the boy flinched and tried to shrink back from his touch. The Shadow-Walker pressed the coin into the boy's palm and closed his fingers around the gold.

"Revyn Sadri in the grey quarter will give you at least one hundred gold pieces for the plate. If he hesitates to give you that much tell him that our 'mutual friend' said he would pay handsomely for the plate. Then, take that gold to the carriage driver out at the stables. Tell him you want passage to Riften. When you get there go back to Honorhall."

Aventus opened his mouth and Rathe could sense the protest coming.

"Honorhall will be different now boy. I promise you."

Aventus closed his mouth and looked down at the ground in a sulk. Rathe leaned in close to the boy and gripped him by the shoulders. The boy gasped as the man pulled him closer.

"Do this boy. I'll know if you don't… and I'll come back."

Rathe's nose caught the acrid tang of urine as the boy's bladder let go in terror. Aventus could no longer speak but nodded emphatically. The Shadow-Walker finally released the boy and rose to his feet.

He dropped a heavy hand on the boy's head and roughed the boy's hair, and without another word, turned and strode out of the Aretino residence.

* * *

The sounds of merriment came to Rathe as he sat on his rented bed at Candlehearth Hall, but they didn't penetrate through his black mood or lift his sullen spirits.

The Shadow-Walker sat in darkness; apt for his mood, and played over the event of the past week. He wondered for the thousandth time whether he'd done the right thing for the Aretino boy.

Almost unconsciously, Rathe's hands slid into his breast pocket and withdrew the delicate fabric. He whiled away the night touching that fabric and imagining the possible outcomes of his trip to the East Empire Company headquarters on the morrow…


	7. Distractions and a Temptress

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 7

Distractions and a Temptress

_Date – unknown_

_I do not know the date. I do not know my whereabouts. I'm writing this on the back of a note, ironically sent to me by the Dark Brotherhood. Why is this ironic? Well… when I get back to Windhelm and my belongings (including my journal), perhaps I'll write about my… interesting… meeting._

The instant sleep loosened its hold on him, Rathe knew something was wrong. He felt bare wooden boards beneath his cheek and could smell dirt, sweat and a musty odour. He remained motionless with his eyes closed as he listened to his surroundings and tried to make sense of what had happened to him during the night.

Wind moaned through boards and he surmised he was in a building – probably ramshackle. He could hear low muttering and louder sobbing and guessed there were others in the room in the same situation he was. Finally, he heard the barely audible creak and jingle of leather armour and he knew at least one captor was lurking around.

The Shadow-Walker very slowly moved his hand to his hip and was considerably surprised to feel the hilt of his blade pressing against his palm. He had been left armed.

_Curious_.

Rathe decided he'd had enough shamming and sprang up from his place on the floor in one fluid movement. He drew both blades simultaneously and dropped into a fighting stance whilst scanning the dark room.

The sights that greeted the Shadow-Walker's pale eyes were not at all what he expected. The building was indeed ramshackle and spattered with gore; it had obviously been used for killing in the past. Ruin and cobwebs covered the place and kneeling amidst the rubble were three hooded figures with their wrists and ankles bound by rope.

Rathe gave these three a cursory glance – nothing more – then spun around and continued searching the room. At the exact moment he spied the figure, the figure spoke.

"Good evening."

Rathe immediately lowered his blades, though he did not sheath them. The figure, perched lazily atop an empty book shelf was clothed head to toe in the uniform of the Dark Brotherhood. Rathe started to move closer to the figure and his toe brushed against his bow and full quiver of arrows.

The Shadow-Walker dipped and collected his weaponry and continued moving closer to the Dark Brotherhood assassin.

"Silent type eh?" The assassin purred. She – for she was _obviously_ female – lazily swung her leg back and forth and peered at Rathe with glittering green eyes.

Rathe stepped close enough to the assassin that he could have grabbed that swinging leg should he have so desired. She kept swinging it impudently and her eyes indicated that she was smiling at him.

"What do you want?" He asked quietly.

The green eyes widened in mock amazement.

"He talks!"

Rathe frowned and something in his pale eyes killed her mirth. The assassin stopped swinging her leg and leaned forward.

"You know who I am don't you?"

Rathe remained silent. He saw no need to answer pointless questions.

The green eyes above the mask glittered and narrowed and her muffled voice was miffed when she spoke again.

"Then you must know why you're here. You stole a contract from the Dark Brotherhood. The Aretino boy was trying to contact _us_ to have that poor, sweet old lady taken care of. And it was you who took the contract…"

Rathe shrugged, uninterested.

Green eyes frowned and hissed.

"You owe us a death!"

"What. You want me to kill one of these three here? Will that satisfy your pretty little ego?"

Green Eyes glared at the Shadow-Walker and spoke in a sharp tone.

"Do you _know_ who you're dealing with?"

Rathe's jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. He was getting very sick of this discussion.

"A sister of the Dark Brotherhood… a sister who perhaps has learned of the demise of the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodil? A sister who maybe heard rumours of the survival of some of the members of the Bruma sanctuary? Night Stalker, fiercest Khajiit infiltrator of the Dark Brotherhood in Cyrodil, rumoured to have survived and fled to Elseweyr? Slinks-With-Purpose, Argonian Shadow Scale rumoured to have taken up a position with the Thieves Guild in Cyrodil?"

Green Eyes crossed her arms over her chest.

"What's your point?"

Rathe continued on.

"Or maybe you've heard rumours that the Shadow-Walker survived?"

Now the owner of the green eyes flinched and then visibly tensed.

Rathe nodded and said in his low, quiet tone, "Yes that's right. The Brotherhood's most successful killer; the coldest, most ruthless assassin ever to grace the family; called by some the Dark Phoenix for the tattoo he bore upon his skin… the Shadow-Walker survived that terrible night…"

"How could you possibly know?" She asked and though her voice dripped with scorn, Rathe detected a note of awe barely hidden.

Rathe slowly, deliberately, raised his long slender finger to his face and tapped the intricate tattoo that decorated one side of his face. He studied the eyes above the mask as they took in the whorls and swirls of the design and began to notice that the design was more than mere random swirls. It depicted a phoenix...

The assassin's mask pulled taut against her face as her mouth dropped open.

"So yes… I _do_ know who I'm dealing with and if you require a death from me then fine. I'll pay."

The Shadow-Walker spun on his heel and walked over to the three bound figures without bothering to wait for a response from the assassin. He'd not have gotten one anyhow; she was too overcome with the realisation of who she was talking to.

Rathe wandered across to the first of the bound figures and as he neared the man called out.

"Who… who are you? Who's there?!"

Rathe didn't answer immediately. He circled the sweating man, taking in the man's fur armour that had seen better days and the scars that covered the man's arms.

_Sell Sword._

He leaned close to the hooded man and whispered, "Who are _you_?"

The man jumped at the close voice.

"My name is Fultheim. I'm a soldier. Well, mercenary, really. You know, a sellsword. I've lived in Skyrim all my life. That's all! I'm a nobody really. So can't you just let me go?"

The stink of the warrior's sweat was rank and Rathe straightened up to breathe in a lungful of fresh air. He leaned down towards the other side of the hooded head and again whispered.

"Why would someone want you dead?"

The man broke into a big gulping sob.

"I don't know! I don't know! I mean my line of work means, well, killing people. I guess I've left some families behind who might have a grudge but… but… I was just doing my job. Can't you let me go?"

Rathe sneered at the hooded figure and strode away. He paused before the middle figure, a stoic kneeling female in a worn but well-repaired dress.

She heard his approach and snapped nastily.

"You there! Let me go! This instant!"

Rathe's lips twitched at the impudence of the woman and when he knelt beside her and leaned in close, to her credit, she did not flinch when his whispered voice breathed close against her ear.

"Who are you?"

"None of your damned business who I am! If you're going to kill me, just do it already! As Mara is my witness, if I didn't have this hood on right now I would spit right in your face."

Rathe leaned back from the spitfire.

"Why would someone want you dead?"

"I have no idea why someone would want me dead and I'm not giving you anymore answers! You let me go right now!"

Rathe shook his head and moved away from the harridan. He stepped up beside the final hooded figure; a Khajiit whose tail started twitching menacingly.

As with the others, Rathe leaned in close to the cat and whispered next to his ear.

"Who are you?"

The melodious voice of the Khajiit, muffled slightly by the hood came slowly, almost lazily to Rathe.

"You have the pleasure of speaking to Vasha; obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters."

Rathe couldn't resist saying, "That's quite an introduction… why would someone want you killed?"

The Khajiit laughed deep in his throat.

"This one has made many enemies and if they would not pay to have this one killed, this one would take it as a personal insult! This is not the first time this one has been bagged and dragged."

The Khajiit's tail swished rapidly now and despite the bravado, Rathe was certain the cat was nervous.

The Shadow-Walker straightened up and moved to the center of the room to face all three bound figures. Rathe could feel green eyes on him and he knew the assassin was bursting with excitement to see which one of the three he would kill. Rathe smiled darkly to himself and knew the truth of the game however. The Dark Brotherhood was an organisation; simple as that. They were not in the vengeance business, they were not in the massacre business – they were in the coin business. The reality of _this_ situation was that someone had paid coin to have all three of these lives ended by the Brotherhood.

And a contract… was a contract.

Rathe reached behind him and pulled his bow from his back.

He nocked an arrow as he moved close to the blubbering Barbarian, Fulltheim.

The bound man sensed the presence and began blubbering.

"No… no! NO!"

Rathe's fingers released the bowstring and the arrow drove deep into the man's throat, ending his cries and his life instantly. As his body slumped to the floor, the middle figure – the Harridan – started screaming.

Rathe moved up to her and fired an arrow quickly into her throat. Bright red arterial blood spurted out and splashed on the Khajiit who flinched and began babbling.

Rathe moved over to the Khajiit who was muttering a prayer and whose tail was a blur of motion. The Shadow-Walker took his time nocking, aiming and drawing back his arrow. He couldn't resist murmuring, "Goodnight defiler of daughters…" as he released the bowstring.

Rathe turned back to the perched assassin before the Khajiit's body even hit the floor. He strode towards Green Eyes, slinging his bow back over his shoulder as he went.

The assassin whistled a low impressed note.

"What a show. I said you owed a death, not three."

Rathe shrugged nonchalantly.

"That all had a contract on them. Otherwise they wouldn't have been here."

Green Eyes smiled beneath her mask.

"How refreshing it is to work with a professional! I like you, Dark Phoenix. I like you a lot."

Rathe frowned.

"I don't go by that name anymore. I'm no Dark Brother anymore."

"Do you want to be?" Green Eyes said and leaned forward eagerly.

"I'm the… leader, of our little chapter here in Skyrim. I can welcome you back into the family Dark Phoen- handsome."

Rathe couldn't help but inwardly smile. She certainly had charisma and a bucket load of confidence. The Shadow-Walker shook his head instead.

"Just unlock the door and I'll be on my way."

Green Eyes frowned and withdrew a key from down the front of her armor. It must have been wedged between her rather defined breasts.

_Fitting_, Rathe thought.

She flicked the key at the Shadow-Walker who caught it and started to turn away.

"Wait!" Green Eyes called. She smoothly dropped to the floor beside Rathe and he noticed how shapely her figure was in the tight leather armor of the Dark Brotherhood. She moved up close beside him and spoke in a blatantly silky tone.

"Should you change your mind and want to come and find… us… again, come to our sanctuary near the township of Falkreath. Answer the red door with this phrase _Silence, my brother_ and you will be allowed into the sanctuary."

She raised one gloved hand and stretched her fingers out to his face. She lightly tracked the pattern of the phoenix on his brow, down the muscular curvature of his cheek and jaw and trailed off as she reached his chin.

"I'd be _very_ happy to see you again… handsome."

Rathe smiled despite himself and turned to the door. He slid the key in the lock and turned it. The lock click and Rathe turned the handle. He stepped outside without giving Green Eyes the last look that she was desperate to have.


	8. Inner Turmoil and a Long Trudge

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 8

Inner Turmoil and a Long Trudge

_ Sundas, 7__th__ of Heart Fire_

_ My first entry in a new journal is always soul destroying. Yet another journal has been finished without the final chapter reading "I've found her". At least _this_ journal was only newly started because my half-finished previous one lies at Candlehearth Hall in Windhelm and I am yet to get back there and reclaim it or my steed, Sicarius. Perhaps I can still finish _that_ journal with those words… "I've found her"…_

Rathe walked out into the cold, fresh night air and took a lungful of clean air gratefully. The confines of the cabin where he'd been held were stuffy and stank of bodily odours and years of decay.

The Shadow-Walker frowned as he looked around the darkened landscape. He had no idea where in Skyrim he was. The air was alive with the sounds of crickets, cicadas and the drone of Torchbugs. The air itself was crisp and cold but moist and thick in patches, shrouded in mist. Rathe looked into the distance and noticed undulating patches of land and water and he guessed he was in some kind of swampland. Skyrim's moons were peeking out from behind a small cloudbank and further on an aurora borealis was filling the night sky with breathtaking aquamarine, turquoise and purple shades.

Rathe turned and looked behind him at the shack and nodded as the reality of the rotting building fitted with his expectations. He wandered away from the shack and soon realised he was on a little island of sorts, smack in the middle of a swamp. Pockets of land banks studded the area and Rathe debated wading through the bog. His eyes lit on a small rowboat and he moved over to it.

Obviously this was how Green Eyes ferried herself and her passengers over to the shack and Rathe noticed multiple boot prints in the mud around the base of the boat.

_Fellow members of the Brotherhood had been here._

Rathe nudged the boat with his toe and set it bobbing into the water. He climbed in and sat down carefully. He pushed the oar heavily into the sandbank and set the rowboat drifting off into the dark water. If the Shadow-Walker had any thoughts of leaving Green Eyes abandoned in the shack without her rowboat, he did not consider them twice.

Rathe rowed the boat gently, navigating through the semi-darkness as the boat bottom dragged against high ground. This really wasn't an ideal location for row boating. The climate and surroundings told Rathe that he had to be located in the salt marshes of Hjaalmarch. He knew roughly geographically speaking that he needed to head East to reach Windhelm again.

The Shadow-Walker glanced up at the night sky and figured if he followed the constellation of Sanguine he would wind up heading roughly East.

The Shadow-Walker wondered briefly how much time had elapsed since he'd been taken by the Brotherhood and inwardly cursed Green Eyes for taking him away from his business in the Windhelm. He patted his breast pocket and was relived to find both scraps of material still there; unmolested and intact. Had something have happened to either cloth he'd have turned the boat right around and marched back into Green Eyes' shack… and she wouldn't have been pleased to see him.

The rowboat ground up against shore and Rathe peered into the darkness and realised he'd rowed fairly well clear of the salt marshes and was butted up against solid land. He stepped gingerly out of the boat, his boots crunching on ice covered grass as he stood once more on terra firma.

He began trudging away from the boat and within metres the patchy grass covered land gave way to slippery sleet covered ground, and soon Rathe found himself wading through snow. The cold seeped through his boots and the Shadow-Walker was quickly chilled through and shivering. He found himself greatly missing his steed and not for the first time, furious at Green Eyes for dropping him in this situation.

Rathe broke into a jog to keep his heartbeat elevated and cause the blood to flow more swiftly around his body. His physical fitness was excellent and he was able to jog though the snow with relative ease. The Shadow-Walker's thoughts turned inward and he found himself thinking about the Dark Brotherhood.

_Was I right to turn down her invitation?_

_Was I right to leave her alive?_

_Her eyes were the same colour as jade…_

Rathe plunged into a snowdrift that deceptively covered a rabbit borough and he free fell two feet before hitting solid ground again. He landed awkwardly and twisted his ankle, nearly toppling head first into the snow.

"Dammit!" Rathe snapped as he steadied himself. He peered into the darkness and tried to see the hole he'd tripped in but could barely make out his own hand when he waved it in front of his face.

"Too dark." He murmured.

The Shadow-Walker knew that if he wanted to rush back to Windhelm he'd need the light of day with which to do it. He glanced around and noticed light in the distance.

Rathe carefully slogged through the waist high snow and gradually moved closer to the light. Well before he could make out the sights and smells of a camp he noticed the lone sentry patrolling a perimeter. Rathe crouched and watched the man as he marched a prescribed route through trampled snow.

_Imperial camp._

Rathe frowned as he considered the implications of spending the night in an Imperial military camp. They would no doubt pump him for information on who he was, where he was headed, where he had been… Rathe was not concerned in the least about answering these questions; he had dozens of false identities with rich complex histories to draw on. Additionally, his Imperial bloodlines would aid him in seeking aid from his 'fellow' citizens.

What concerned the Shadow-Walker would be their attempt to conscript him into their ranks. A young, fit, lone man would be a prime target to conscript into the military. He had to have reason enough that they wouldn't press the issue.

Rathe shifted on his feet and pain lanced up his shin from his twisted ankle. The Shadow-Walker looked down at his foot and smiled grimly.

_A lame man is no soldier… and a wounded man begs no questions…_

The Shadow-Walker reached down to his calf and withdrew the dagger he kept secured there. He squatted in the snow, the dagger firmly in his hand and with one swift movement, plunged the dagger through his boot into the fleshy part of his leg just above his left ankle. White hot pain raced up his leg and Rathe bit his lip to keep from crying out.

He sucked in a deep breath and ripped the dagger cleanly free from his leg. Dark blood dribbled down his boot and stained the snow crimson and the Shadow-Walker fought a wave of nausea and pain as he raised himself to his feet. He pressed his weight gingerly down on his injured leg and though the pain was terrible it supported him.

_No real damage done._

Limping for effect and with the added bonus or real blood filling his footsteps, Rathe headed into the Imperial camp – assured of warmth, succour and a peaceful night.

* * *

It was with a belly full of meat and mead and a well rapped bandage around his ankle that Rathe left the Imperial camp the following morning. His fellow Imperials had indeed taken good care of the 'down-on-his-luck hunter' who'd unwittingly sprung a poacher's bear trap. They saw him fed and cared for and offered to escort him to his destination which the Shadow-Walker had very politely refused.

Rathe made his way carefully through the high snow just outside of the Imperial camp until he hit the road as directed. Once his boots touched the cobbled road he found the going much quicker; even with his painful ankle. Rathe wandered along almost peacefully; one hand pressed to the hilt at his side, the other holding an apple that he broke his fast on.

The sun drifted through the morning sky and Rathe walked unhindered through this forested and hushed region of Skyrim.

The path, hemmed in by trees, opened up a few yards ahead and the Shadow-Walker was keen to finally see into the distance. He approached the vista and stopped as he stared into the distance. The vista was stunning; mountains dominated the horizon and fields of rusty coloured grass rolled in the foreground. And most beautiful of all; the silhouette of Dragonsreach, dark against the sun, scraped the sky and dominated the scene.

_Whiterun? I didn't realise I was so close…_

Rathe paused as he considered the vista before him. A stop at Whiterun would mean he could purchase some supplies, have his leg healed at the temple and most importantly, purchase a horse. Ultimately, the detour would get him back to Windhelm faster. The Shadow-Walker turned and looked down the continuing path East towards Windhelm then back to Whiterun.

He plunged off the path and headed to Dragonsreach.

* * *

The sun was sinking when Rathe finally finished bartering with the stingy Breton that owned Belethor's General Goods. The little man had tried his fiercest to overcharge for a few shanks of goat, a bushel of apples and a tattered but unused journal. Rathe had turned his cold stare on the man, slammed down a few coins and taken the goods without comment. Belethor had had the good sense to let the Shadow-Walker leave unchallenged.

Rathe stood in the dusk filled streets of Whiterun, watching as merchants packed up their stalls and children were called in for supper. He supposed he should press on and travel through the night, but the sight of a wooden sign creaking in the chill breeze drew his eye.

The Bannered Mare.

Rathe looked at the tavern and wondered if they ever received supplies from the East Empire Company. He knew the tavern was a reputable establishment and wondered if they stocked only the best ale and mead – the best which might only be bought from a specialist import / export service?

The Shadow-Walker strode up the steps in his tight new boots, marvelling at the job the healer in the temple had done for his ankle. He opened the heavy door to the tavern and entered the warm establishment.

A lovely tune piped out on a flute came to Rathe's ears and he was hit with a wall of warmth. The great fire pit in the centre of the tavern was pumping out masses of heat, and the premises were jam packed with warm dancing bodies and drinking patrons.

Rathe removed his hood and cloak, shaking snow and travel grime onto the floor. He gazed around serenely taking in the scene before he waded through the crush of people to approach the bar. A sot was stumbling away from a recently vacated stool as Rathe approached and the Shadow-Walker took his place at the bar. A tall, handsome Nord woman approached him and offered him a rushed smile.

"What can I get for you?" She asked, distracted by the Nord man sitting beside Rathe who lunged at her as she passed; trying feebly to grab a free grope of buxom bosom.

Rathe eyed the man who missed and went back to drinking from his tankard.

"Would you have any Argonian Blood-Wine? I developed quite a taste for it in my recent travels to Black Marsh."

The tavern owner laughed.

"Argonian Blood-Wine? Where do you think you are, Solitude?"

The drunk made another lunge at the tavern owner who was too slow this time to avoid having a handful of her breast squeezed. Rathe frowned at the tavern owner as he hooked his foot around the stool upon which the lecherous drunk was perched. He yanked his leg back sending the stool flying out from under the drunk and causing the man to crash heavily to the floor.

"Why would I think this is Solitude? Do you not get imports here?" Rathe asked.

The tavern owner peered down at the moaning drunk on the floor then looked at Rathe.

"No, sad to say we're not fancy enough to be on the receiving end of East Empire Company trading routes… I probably could get a bottle for you if you had a couple of days and didn't mind going through… less than legal channels?"

Rathe shook his head and gave the tavern owner one of those rare smiles of his.

"That's fine. Alto wine will do just as nicely."

The tavern owner beamed back at Rathe, the admiration in her eyes plain to see as she turned and busied herself getting him a goblet of wine. Rathe turned around on his stool and gazed out over the tavern. The drunk at his feet was groaning and trying to clamber up.

"Stay down." Rathe said in a voice as cold as the grave.

The drunk paused, weakly raised his head to look up at Rathe then collapsed back on the dirty floor.

The tavern owner set a cup of wine down at Rathe's elbow and he nodded to her as he took the tankard. He made a show of sipping the drink (though his lips stayed pursed and closed), and slid off his stool to wander slowly about the crowded tavern.

Rathe fell in and out of conversations as he wandered with nothing particularly scintillating capturing his attention until he overheard something that made his blood run cold.

"…shock of white hair and eyes red like a daedra. An Albino he said. Fat, arrogant and cruel."

Rathe pressed his back against a wooden beam and angled his body so he could hear the woman more clearly. The Redguard, with hideous scarring across her face, leaned in closer to the bard she was speaking with and spoke in low tones.

"He said he dared not do anything but pay what he owed and hightail it out of there while he still had his life! He thinks the Albino was connected you see…"

"Connected?" The bard asked excitedly.

The Redgaurd nodded dramatically.

"With the _Dark Brotherhood_."

The Bard made a rude noise.

"Oh, what would Skooma dealers have to do with the Dark Brotherhood? Besides, who believes a word that falls from Brenuin's mouth?"

The Redgaurd shrugged her shoulders doubtfully.

"Well, he seemed very upset when I saw him yesterday in the street."

The Bard laughed.

"Oh Saadia. He was just trying to con some coin from you! An Albino Skooma Lord in league with the Dark Brotherhood indeed!"

The two women moved onto talk of a different nature and neither became aware of the tall man standing beside them, his face obscured by shadows with a thunder-stricken expression across his features.

_Could it be true? _

Rathe pressed the cup of wine to his lips and absently tasted the bitter liquid before he realised what he was doing. He grimaced and spat the liquid back out and set the cup down with such vehemence it slopped all over the table.

The Shadow-Walker strode across to the tavern owner and as he approached she turned her bright smile on him and flicked her hair from her face. Rathe didn't even see the woman as he snapped, "I need a room for the night."

The tavern owner blinked in confusion, suddenly wondering if this was even the same man she'd spoken with not more than five minutes ago. She was thrown off-guard by his sudden sullen demeanour.

"Ah, ten gold pieces for the room for the night."

Rathe dug around in his pouch and pulled out a handful of coin. He slapped it on the counter and turned on his heel.

"I'll show you to your room!" The tavern owner called as he started walking off.

"I know the way." He called over his shoulder, heading straight to the stairs leading up to the loft above. The tavern owner watched him go and shivered. Perhaps there _were_ worse things than being groped by drunken letches?

Rathe entered his rented room and kicked the doors immediately shut behind him. The room was dark but clean and fresh cut lavender leant the room a pleasant summery odour. He dropped his cloak and bow on the bed and sauntered through the room and onto the landing that overlooked the noisy tavern below. The smoke out here was thick but not unpleasant and Rathe paused on the landing, looking down at the tavern with unseeing eyes.

His mind was in turmoil as he played over and over the conversation between the two gossips below.

_What now? Do I continue on to Windhelm or is there merit in what they said? The words of gossips and addicts? But the description of the Albino though! Fat, arrogant and cruel… Gods it fits!_

Rathe rubbed his hand across his face as he wrestled with what to do. Continue his investigations in Windhelm or try to find out about this sighting of an Albino with ties to the Dark Brotherhood? And how would he even go about that anyway? The skooma addict could be persuaded to talk, sure. But what use would his testimony be? How reliable _could_ it be?

Suddenly Rathe had a thought.

Green Eyes.

If anyone would know, it would be her.

Decision made, Rathe turned from the landing and entered his rented room.

He laid down on the bed after taking hold of the scrap of material from his pocket and when he started to drift into sleep, his last thoughts were of green eyes.


	9. Towards the Past and Uncertainty

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 9

Towards the Past and Uncertainty

_Morndas, 8__th__ of Heart Fire _

_Am I mad? Today I turn my back on a firm lead to chase a shadow, a ghost, a rumour. I tuck the piece of material against my chest and cling to the fact that if this turns out to be a waste of time, I can always follow the galley back to Windhelm and pick up the search there. Meanwhile, perhaps I might find some answers at Falkreath. At the sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood. From Green Eyes…_

Rathe's first stop was at the Whiterun stables where he approached a young stable hand and enquired about purchasing a horse. The lad quickly shrugged off the strange man with the pale eyes and nodded in the direction of his father and went back to raking up straw.

Rathe negotiated with the stable master for the purchase of a black stallion very similar in temperament to his own faithful Sicarius. He patted the neck of the spirited stallion and paid a handsome sum for the animal. Rathe took the reins in his gloved hands and wheeled the horse away and broke into a fast gallop.

The feel of the horse's muscles bunching beneath his thighs and the steady, rhythmic thud of his hooves pounding against the earth was all Rathe knew as he tore along the wooded area south of Whiterun. He directed the stallion to the well-trod path and slowed the animal into a canter as he rode towards Falkreath. Sunlight filtered through the trees and touched the red hair of the Shadow-Walker turning it into a burnished copper colour. He felt a sense of peace and tranquillity as he rode through the woods, enjoying the heady aroma of pine and drawing in lungfuls of pure crisp air.

Hours flitted by as Rathe peacefully rode the path; eyeing scampering foxes and deer startled by his nearness that bounded elegantly away.

The Shadow-Walker slowed the stallion as he approached a signpost. He was headed in the right direction towards Falkreath, but a small pang of guilt hit the man as his eyes passed over the carved words 'Windhelm' and he wondered yet again if he should have simply followed the lead on the East Empire Company and not bothered with the Dark Brotherhood. He hesitated a moment then sighed. He flicked the reins and continued along the way he was originally riding.

As dusk was beginning to shroud the thick woods in warm hues of pink, purple and amber, the Shadow-Walker's keen hearing detected a scream. He reined up sharply and sat forward in his saddle, listening.

Silence.

Rathe frowned and unhooked his feet from the stirrups. In a smooth movement he slid from the saddle, wincing as he stretched muscles cramped and aching from a full day in the saddle. He led the horse to the side of the road and deftly tied the reins to a nearby fir tree.

As his stallion settled into cropping the sweet, green grass at the base of the tree, Rathe dropped into a crouch and slid deeper into the forest.

Moist air touched his skin as he moved through the shaded woods and he could almost taste the musty, rich earth that he stepped on silently. He heard the muted mumble of conversation and the jingle of armor off in the distance.

Moving silently through the forest, Rathe approached a camp site.

A crude tent had been erected and a campfire was smoking as though only recently doused.

"Well boys, a good couple of days entertainment there. Ready to move on?"

The voice was rough and uneducated and as Rathe moved silently through the forest he could see its owner. A man stood with his back to the Shadow-Walker, swaddled in unkempt furs and mismatched pieces of armor; no doubt taken from the corpses of fallen foes.

"Only if we can find us a juicy young Breton bitch this time. Them dark elves scratch too much!"

This came from a one-eyed man squatting over the smoking campfire. He raised a hand to a recent wound on his cheek and Rathe could make out three parallel marks there; as though claws had raked his skin.

The third man, a massive Nord, buckled his sword belt around a flabby midriff and grunted. "That's only coz you take em from the front Badjer. I never have no problems."

He thrust his pelvis back and forth and mimed bending over someone. The three broke off into chuckles and started describing the best ways to 'do the deed' without risk of harm to themselves.

Rathe's pale eyes narrowed and he calmly reached behind him to unsling his bow.

The Shadow-Walker slipped through the trees and into the clearing as he drew back an arrow. The three men had no idea he lurked in their midst.

Rathe sighted the big Nord first and let the fletching slip through his fingers.

As the arrow sped through the dusk and thudded into the Nord's chest, a second arrow hissed through the night and took Badjer through the throat. The final man watched his two fellows fall to the ground and spun on his heel.

He should never have turned.

Rathe's final arrow pierced through one eye and continued through his brain and skull to protrude out the back of his head. The bandit stood for a moment with the arrow sticking out of his face; twitching and murmuring, before sinking to his knees.

As Rathe moved over to the slain men the third bandit pitched sideways and landed head first in the smouldering campfire. Glowing embers were scattered into the air and fell around his face where they began burning into his skin.

Rathe looked down at all three and a sneer crossed his lips.

Fluttering movement caught his attention and the Shadow-Walker turned to his left.

A ruined and dead body was lying at an awkward angle over a fallen tree bough. Rathe quietly walked over to the body and looked down at her.

The dark elf's face was badly beaten and her dress was barely holding together it was so shredded. She was drenched with blood and Rathe couldn't tell what wound had actually killed her in the end. Her hair was so matted with blood and dirt that it was hard to tell it was once white. Scattered apothecary sacks surrounding the body told that she had been a travelling merchant when she'd stumbled upon these three. Some of her fingers were broken and Rathe could see blood beneath the nails and he hoped that some of it at least belonged to the three dead men on the ground.

The Shadow-Walker leaned down and gently lifted the dead body into his arms. She was light and disturbingly, still warm and limp. He guessed the scream he'd heard in the forest had been hers after all.

Rathe took her across to the babbling stream that ran swiftly alongside the camp and eased down into a crouch at the river's edge. Taking care not to jostle the lifeless body too much, Rathe lowered the dark elf into the stream. Her legs floated in the water and one shoe was torn free by the swift current and was sent spinning downstream. Rathe pulled her further into the water and when she was free of the bank he let her go. The current took the dark elf speedily away and soon she was swept downstream and away from this place that had seen her final, horrific moments of life.

Rathe watched the body until he could see it no more. He slowly stood; mud oozing beneath his feet and walked back to the camp. His gaze fell on the three bandits and he paused. Somewhere off in the distance a wolf howled and the Shadow-Walker smiled.

_May they feast well tonight._

He turned to their crude tent and bent in to see if there was anything of interest inside. Rope and blood spatters told Rathe that this was where the three carried out their carnal acts. He straightened up and with deliberate movements, unsheathed one of his blades. The Shadow-Walker methodically set to work hacking up the hide tent.

When he had nothing left but a pile of stained hides and mismatched poles, Rathe dragged them over to the river and spent the next few moments tossing it all in and sending it downstream.

Night was coming on as the Shadow-Walker finally turned his back on the clearing that was now nothing more than a graveyard for three slain bandits.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out an apple. As he threaded his way back through the forest, chewing on his supper, Rathe heard again the howl of wolves; and they were a lot closer this time.

* * *

Thankfully the moons were bright this night and lit the path for the Shadow-Walker as his stallion trotted down the path. The journey from Whiterun to Falkreath should not have taken him from dawn to dusk but he hadn't counted on stopping so long at the bandit camp.

It never entered his mind that perhaps he'd wasted time there – the fact that he'd stopped, slain the bandits, laid the dark elf to rest and dismantled the camp was something that came as naturally to the Shadow-Walker as breathing. It came from a moral code instilled in him the day an Albino had taken his family from him. A moral code further developed by the dark elf that had trained him in his adolescence. A moral code that Rathe didn't even know existed within his troubled soul... yet intrinsically lived by every moment of his life.

Pinpoints of light up ahead slowed the Shadow-Walker's approach. He detected the tang of wood smoke and unmistakable sounds of civilisation; creak of windmills, groaning of domesticated farm animals and the pounding of guard patrols.

Falkreath.

Rathe guided his stallion to a sheer drop that overlooked the sleepy little town and gazed down with appraising eyes. His stomach roiled and Rathe would have given much to have entered the town and found meat and mead and a decent straw bed to rest in. His bones were aching from having been in the saddle so long and that apple hadn't gone far.

He gritted his teeth and tugged on the reins and set the stallion off on the dark path skirting the edge of the town.

_First thing's first._

He thought back to Green Eyes' description of the entry to the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary and knew from experience that it would be well hidden by undergrowth; preferably in some kind of grotto.

Rathe eventually dismounted from his stallion and lead the horse with one hand as he searched about the woods for the entryway.

The moons rose through the sky and the Shadow-Walker was beginning to feel the first flicker of anger when he finally felt a soft pulse thrum through his feet; as though the earth itself had a beating heart resonating up into his body. Rathe moved through the darkness towards that pulse and soon began to make out a sickly red colour emanating from the gloom.

His stallion began to snort and paw at the ground and when he jerked his head up and the reins tore free from the Shadow-Walker's hands, Rathe left the stallion and continued moving closer to that insidious red glow.

Between two edges of rock, wedged in tight, was a door.

A door that could only denote the home of the Dark Brotherhood.

Rathe frowned at the ornately carved door, replete with skull and the Brotherhood symbol of the Black Hand.

_Subtle_.

As he approached the door an otherworldly voice hissed.

"What is the music of life?"

Even without Green Eyes' prompting Rathe would have known the answer to that riddle.

"Silence my brother." He said in a cool tone.

"Welcome home." The door answered and creaked open.

Warm light washed out from the sanctuary and illuminated Rathe as he paused on the threshold. Pressing his lips together firmly, the Shadow-Walker entered the sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood.


	10. The Sanctuary and a Bargain Struck

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 10

The Sanctuary and a Bargain Struck

_Tirdas, 9__th__ of Heart Fire _

_It feels... strange... to have a home again. To have a room and a chest for my belongings. To be seen as family... of sorts. I came here to talk with Green Eyes - Astrid - about the Dark Brotherhood's connection with the Albino. I leave tomorrow morning, not permanently, but on a contract. A contract that will not directly bring me closer to the Albino yet... why is it that I don't mind? Do I have such faith in Astrid that I believe the pretty words she fed me a few short hours ago? Or is it simply comforting to be back doing what I do so well... and being home again?_

Rathe entered the sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood and was immediately struck with how different this place felt to the sanctuaries he'd known in Cyrodil. There, they had been all plush, rich trappings; hedonistic and obscenely luxurious. This place was little more than an underground cavern, complete with wet walls and dirt beneath his boots.

Rathe wound his way into the first proper hallway within the sanctuary and immediately spied the figure leaning lazily against one wall. She noticed him a moment after he entered.

"Well, well, well. I have to admit it; I had my doubts that you'd actually show."

Rathe wandered over to Green Eyes as he did a visual sweep of the room, taking everything in and storing it methodically in his mind. He stepped closer to the woman who now wore no mask and studied her. As her lovely green eyes had hinted, she was stunning. Blonde wavy hair caressed her shoulders and sweet ruby lips pouted at him alarmingly. She gazed him up and down with those green eyes of hers and her lips turned up into a rosebud smile.

"We didn't get a chance to properly get acquainted last time we met. I'm Astrid. Welcome, handsome."

Rathe nodded coolly.

"Don't get so excited welcoming me to your 'family' Astrid. I'm only here for information."

"Information... Sure. You're not here for the thrill of the kill. The feel of hot blood splashing on your boots. The terror in their eyes as they draw their last breath..."

Rathe frowned.

"No. You might say, been there, done that. The Brotherhood cannot offer me satisfaction... on any level."

It was Astrid's turn to frown and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"So what _do_ you want then?"

"As I said. Information. I've been told that the Brotherhood may know the whereabouts of a man I'm seeking."

Astrid shrugged nonplussed.

"We know a great deal of things about many men, handsome. Which one takes your fancy?"

Her emphasis on the word _fancy_ drew a frown from the Shadow-Walker.

"I'm looking for a skooma dealer... or an ex dealer."

Astrid laughed.

"Well that narrows the field down to oh, few hundred!"

"This one would be memorable. He's an Albino."

He was watching her face carefully as he said these words and either Astrid was exceptionally talented at hiding her feelings or she genuinely hadn't heard of the Albino before as her face showed no recognition whatsoever.

"I don't know of anyone of that description who is a skooma dealer. I can hook you up with a lovely Albino whore though. From what I've heard he's quite the talented one..."

Rathe's lips quirked at her suggestion and he shook his head slowly.

Astrid's green eyes twinkled with mirth.

"However, just because I haven't heard of your Albino doesn't mean your other brothers and sisters here haven't also."

She held up her hand as she saw Rathe frown and start to speak.

"Sorry handsome... your _would be_ brothers and sister here."

The Shadow-Walker bristled. Rarely had he encountered a person oozing such confidence in the face if his cold, penetrating gaze. He was much more used to people stammering in fear when he questioned them than her forthright and downright flirting responses.

"Also, even if _they_ know nothing there's not much in Skyrim that happens that I don't or _can't_ find out about..."

Rathe's eyes narrowed.

"You'd look into this for me?"

Astrid's grin widened.

"Why nothing would please me more... for my _brother_."

Rathe's scowl returned and a lesser person would have been intimidated indeed beneath that fearsome gaze.

"You'll only help if I join the Brotherhood again. Is that it?"

"So blunt handsome! But also... so correct."

Rathe suddenly leaned in close to the woman and whispered, "I can _make_ you help me Astrid."

She smiled wider at him.

"I don't doubt it handsome. And I don't doubt that I even might enjoy it... but then you'd have one pretty pissed off Brotherhood, not to mention a werewolf after your hide."

Rathe nodded and pulled back. Had she shown fear at his veiled threat he would have lost all respect for her and indeed the Skyrim Brotherhood. Her character spoke volumes about this chapter. Perhaps he _could_ play along... for a while at least.

"So... you have a werewolf in the team?"

Astrid grinned broader.

"Oh you'll find we have many diverse personalities here in our little family. Why don't you go on down and meet with them while I make some preliminary investigations into your quandary. While you're there, chat with Nazir and see if he can throw some work your way; may as well get paid while oh wait for a lead right?"

"Right." Rathe said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Oh and handsome, be careful what you say to Arnbjorn... he's the werewolf... and my husband."

Rathe was far beyond being shocked by anything in his life, yet this nearly drew an expression of surprise from the Shadow-Walker. Astrid caught sight of the flicker across his face and her own lips twisted into a smile.

Rathe started to head down a set of stairs towards the main cavern of the Brotherhood when Astrid called out.

"Oh and handsome, feel free to give me your name if you want me to stop calling you handsome."

The Shadow-Walker turned to her and looked at her for a few long moments.

"Who says I want you to stop?" He answered quietly without a hint of a smile.

It was Astrid's turn to have a flicker across her features and Rathe turned away before his own smile gave him away. He left her on that note and continued deeper into the sanctuary.

Rathe wandered into a cavern and was almost awestruck by the natural beauty of the subterranean home of the Dark Brotherhood. A murmuring waterfall cascaded into a clear pool that dominated one portion of the cavern and captured the eye. Immediately after gazing at the waterfall, the unwary eye was raised to a stainless window above the waterfall, set into the rock wall and resplendent in shades of red, deep indigo and black. Although the image depicted was grim, Rathe supposed the fearsome skull totem was fitting for the Dark Brotherhood.

The damp wetness that pervaded the cavern led to underground mushrooms and fauna sprouting in patches of wet earth and moss and leant a strong musty odour to the cavern. Torches lit the cavern and illuminated a group of armoured and robed Brothers and Sisters congregating beneath a set of carved stairs.

Rathe approached the group cautiously and with his natural inclination for stealth well and truly upon him. So it was that he could examine and study his fellow 'family' before they were even aware of his presence.

His eye was first drawn to a beautiful young child, who beamed with innocence and vibrancy but Rathe frowned as he detected something... off about her.

_The eyes_ he thought to himself. They were cold and had seen too much of the world.

_This is no child._

As if to confirm his thoughts the young girl grinned suddenly and tiny fangs peeked out over her lower lip.

Rathe's attention was drawn to a heated conversation between a scruffy white haired brute of a man and a craggy, old Mage. The Shadow-Walker listened as they harangued one another and the aggressive demeanour of the white haired man suggested that here was Astrid's werewolf.

A tall, wiry Redguard was the first among them to become aware of Rathe's presence. He held up a hand and cut off the argument between the other two members.

"It seems our newest family member has finally arrived. Come brother, speak with me."

Rathe watched with interest as the 'family' instantly dispersed; casting furtive looks in his direction, but deferring to the Redguard's wisdom. The Redguard wandered over to Rathe and spoke in a deep, commanding tone.

"You speak with Nazir brother. I advise you to mingle with your new family, get to know them and then come and find me to discuss your first contracts."

Rathe frowned and when he spoke his tone was cool.

"First, I don't care who I now speak with. Second, you are not my family and third, if I come and collect contracts from you, it's because I have no choice but to dance this dance while Astrid does her part."

The Redguard's expression tightened and he opened his mouth to unleash a tirade at this young upstart.

Rathe held up a hand to forestall him.

"If you have a problem with any of that, speak to Astrid. And Redguard, don't mistake me for some young neonate all wide eyed and agog with wonder at the Dark Brotherhood... I've been around."

He turned on his heel and strode away from the Redguard, aware that the dusky skinned man twirled and strode straight towards Astrid.

_Huh. Let her set him straight on a few home truths._

"Greetings brother." A polite and reserved voice greeted Rathe from strangely enough, at his feet. Rathe looked down and realised he had nearly stepped on a well camouflaged Argonian who was sitting relaxed on the stone ground. The reptilian face twisted into what Rathe knew was a friendly smile. Rathe's own answer was polite and courteous.

"Greetings Shadow Scale."

The reptilian eyes widened and he rasped, "You know my ancestral designation?"

Rathe's lips flickered with a smile and he elegantly lowered himself to a cross legged position on the ground before the Argonian.

"You're not the first Argonian within the Dark Brotherhood that I've ever come across. I had a very long... friendship of sorts with an Argonian Shadow Scale by the name of Slinks-With-Purpose."

The Argonian's eyes widened further and he leaned forward.

"Slinks-With-Purpose?! That name is legendary amongst my kind. How is it that you came to know him?"

Rathe shrugged.

"Our paths crossed. Listen, friend, I have need of your knowledge of the province. In your travels and through your contacts, have you ever heard of a Skooma dealer known as the Albino?"

The Argonian's eyes narrowed as he dredged his memory. After long moments the reptilian humanoid sighed.

"This name does not resonate with me brother. Do you seek him for information or vengeance brother?"

Rathe's pale eyes glittered and a look of ice passed across his expression making the Argonian draw back from the man.

"I seek him for both."

"Then I wish you luck in finding him. And brother, welcome to the family. I am Veezara."

Rathe nodded curtly and raised himself to his feet. He didn't bother to correct the Argonian about his reasons for being present amongst the Brotherhood; in truth, he had a deep respect for Argonians and felt a kind of connection with this humanoid sitting before him.

He nodded in farewell and turned toward the stone stairs that lead further into the cavern of the Dark Brotherhood. Standing on the stone steps with arms folded across his breast was the werewolf. Both men eyed each other in the darkness of the cavern and finally after a long protracted silence the werewolf growled.

"So... you're the new guy."

Rathe shrugged and saw no need to answer what was so clearly obvious. Instead he deflected the comment.

"You're the werewolf."

Arnbjorn's face twisted into a grim scowl.

"I'm a werewolf yeah. I also love Astrid, hate annoying people and the colour blue gives me a headache. Remember that, Roast Beef, and we'll get along fine."

Rathe shrugged again, clearly not intimidated by the big man who was obviously confused at such a calm reaction. Rathe brushed past the werewolf and continued undaunted up the stairs.

"It's a brave man who tangles with Arnbjorn." A soft voice said from the shadows. Rathe controlled his initial jolt of shock that someone had managed to lurk close by without his knowledge and turned towards the voice. A dark elf melted from the shadows and smiled warmly at Rathe.

"I didn't think what we did was tangle... just talk."

The dark elf laughed gently.

"Talking with Arnbjorn _is_ tangling! You'd do best, brother, to give him a wide berth and talk with the rest of your family instead."

Rathe looked at her curiously.

"Are _you_ safe to talk with? Or would that just be further tangling?" His voice dripped with sarcasm.

The dark elf's smile deepened.

"What a curious question! You mean, what am I like? What do I like? Well, I enjoy moonlit nights, taking long walks on the beach, knitting and unicorns. In fact, I once took a seaside stroll, on a moonlit night, and discovered a unicorn... which I proceeded to stab in the throat with a crochet needle. I'm a woman of refined yet simple tastes."

Rathe's lips twitched again and he paused to wonder whether she was playing him or was genuinely afflicted with a touch of madness. Either way, she was a dark elf and that noble and mysterious race demanded his respect.

The Shadow-Walker nodded to her.

"I am a simple yet refined man so I greet you humbly and with a question that I beg of you..."

The dark elf raised her brows as Rathe continued.

"Have you heard in your travels of a skooma dealer known as the Albino?"

She shook her head nearly instantly.

"Such an evocative moniker would surely have stuck with me brother. I know not this name."

Rathe nodded, expecting as much.

The dark elf noted the look of disappointment in his eyes.

"Speak with our dear Babette brother. Whom she does not know does not exist."

Rathe nodded solemnly.

"Thank you Muthsera."

The dark elf smiled warmly again.

"Oh anything for my family!"

As with Vezeera, Rathe didn't bother to set her to the truth about his _membership_ in the family. With astounding ability, she melted back into the shadows and within seconds had vanished from Rathe's side. He shook his head in appreciation and briefly flirted with the idea of how much she might be able to offer him in the techniques of shadow-walking.

Rathe took the remaining stairs two at a time and wandered through a series of twisting halls. He came upon a sleeping area and looked gratefully at the wood framed beds, but would not allow himself to rest or take nourishment yet. He kept moving through the dank cavern until his nose detected the acrid tang of a bubbling alchemical pot. He peered into the dark room and spied some kind of concoction brewing on an alchemy bench. A series of bookshelves dotted the room and on the far side of the room an enchanter's bench was pressed against one damp wall. The old man who was sharing vociferous words with Arnbjorn earlier was hunched over the enchanter's bench hard at work on an enchantment.

Watching the old man with those incongruent old eyes set in her childlike face was the vampire child. Rathe moved quietly over to her and she turned at his approach and gave him a big smile. In other circumstances that smile might have been cherubic and innocent; here in the bleak cavern with skulls adorning the bookshelves and daggers scattered around the smile was chilling.

"Brother."

She noticed his appraising gaze and she giggled.

"Don't let my appearance throw you off. I'm older than you. A lot older. Getting bitten by a vampire when you're ten will do that to a girl. It's been quite a boon, looking like a child. No one ever suspects a thing. My targets make the mistake of not perceiving me as a threat, Last mistake they ever make."

Rathe frowned. "Then they mustn't look into your eyes."

The girl scowled and said in her high pitched girlie voice, "What about my eyes?"

Rathe looked deeply into those very eyes.

"They're dead."

The girl harrumphed.

"Well if that isn't the pot calling the kettle black."

Rathe's left eyebrow rose at this and a slight smile touched his lips.

_Touché_.

"I did not mean to insult you Night-Stalker."

She waved her hand at Rathe dismissively.

"You did not. If anything, I admire one who is honest enough to speak against me. Permit me to introduce myself. I am Babette and I officially welcome you to our little family brother. What's your name?"

The childlike voice asking this question nearly elicited an instant response from Rathe; he hesitated at the last moment and was saved from answering by the gruff bark of the old man peering at his enchanting alter.

"Leave the lad alone Babette. If he wanted to give his name, he'd have done so already."

The vampire flashed a dark look at the old man's back and Rathe turned his own attention onto the old man. He wandered over to him quietly.

"It's a wise man that reads so carefully between the lines."

The old man snorted and looked over his shoulder at Rathe.

"It's a dumb vampire that can't see a man who values his privacy is all."

Both glanced back at Babette who was visibly shivering with anger at the old man's words.

"Festus, I'm going to turn you into a Skeever!" She cried in her shrill voice.

The old man snorted again and turned his back on the vampire. It was obvious to Rathe that these two spent a lot of time in similar arguments making threats against life and limb frequently.

The old man turned his shrewd gaze once more onto Rathe.

"So, what is it you want here lad? If you were a keen killer you'd be trotting behind Nazir like a puppy waiting for him to dole out contracts. For you to be standing here before my delightful company tells me it's not the killing that's drawn you down into our little 'family'."

Rathe frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.

_Old man's far too smart for his own good... better keep an eye on this one._

"I'm looking for someone. I was told he may be connected to the Brotherhood." He answered carefully.

The old man nodded and Babette leaned forward in her chair. The two met each other's gaze and an almost imperceptible look passed between them. Rathe intercepted the look and understood it; they knew Astrid was holding him hostage with the promise of providing information to him. And he knew that they would not go against her plans and spill anything to him that might provide him with the information he required and see him walk away from the Dark Brotherhood prematurely. Suddenly he wondered how _realistic_ the answers of his other 'family' were when they had emphatically denied having heard of an Albino before.

Rathe scowled.

"Never mind. I have to see Nazir... apparently he has contracts to _dole_ out to me."

The three shared an unspoken look; an unspoken thought and Rathe nodded before he left the two and delved deeper into the cavern. He entered a vast kitchen and dining area where a rich aroma of cooking meat pervaded the air.

The Redguard Nazir was seated at the table downing a tankard of mead. His expression was dark and no doubt Astrid had told him to not only be polite and courteous to the newest 'family' member, but had most likely informed him of Rathe's former time spent within the Brotherhood.

Rathe silently descended the stairs into the dining hall and approached the Redguard.

"Nazir." He said loudly.

The Redguard flinched and turned in his chair. His eyes were wary and hooded and his expression was haunted before he pulled a mask of cool indifference over his features.

"Dark Phoenix." He answered.

Rathe frowned and Nazir chuckled nastily.

"Oh right. You don't go by that anymore. You also apparently don't want to go by brother either..."

Rathe shrugged nonchalantly.

"So tell me then. What can I call you, for I don't want to use Astrid's favourite expression for you... handsome though you may be!"

Rathe couldn't help but smile at this. He wondered at the implications of giving his name and considered that if he wanted their assistance, perhaps being honest with them was the best practice.

"Rathe Decanius."

Nazir nodded respectfully.

"Welcome Rathe."

The dark-skinned man cleared his throat.

"Now... contracts. I happen to have three outstanding contracts that need attending to."

Rathe nodded and waited.

Nazir described in great detail the three deaths the Dark Brotherhood were required to deliver and while he spoke, Rathe on instinct, found himself planning the kill; how he would approach the target, the best choice of weapon to deliver the death blow, an excuse should the authorities be called down upon him. He was stunned to feel his pulse had quickened and his palms were sweating.

_Did he truly miss the kill that much?_

He turned his attention back to Nazir.

"... and by the time you return perhaps Astrid will have news for you about your friend..."

"He's not my friend." Rathe snapped loudly.

The sudden outburst shocked both men in the silence of the dining hall. Rathe was surprised with the vehemence that the statement had flooded from him, while Nazir caught a glimpse of that terrible dark self that Rathe usually kept so neatly tucked away.

The sight shook the Redguard up.

Badly.

"Er, well... whatever. Astrid will most likely have news anyway on your return."

Rathe nodded and turned away, already bitterly regretting allowing his pristine self-control to slip for even a fraction of a second. Tucking the three scraps of paper with three scrawled names on them inside his doublet he walked quickly through the cavern while steeling himself again.

When he reached the very first antechamber just inside of the entryway Rathe came upon Astrid again. She was looking down at a map of Skyrim; no doubt planning contract deliveries.  
Rathe stepped up behind her and whispered, "I expect some answers on my return."

Astrid glanced at him over her shoulder and her tone was all silk when she spoke.

"I'll have some answers for you handsome, but whether they're to the right questions... that remains to be seen."

Rathe leaned down to her, close enough that his long red ponytail slipped over his shoulder and mingled with her blonde locks.

"Don't mess me around Astrid. If this is all an elaborate ploy... I won't take it lightly."

She smiled at Rathe and even in his state of simmering anger he could appreciate how attractive she was.

"I wouldn't dream of leading you on handsome. Just remember, all good things come to he who waits."

"I _have_ waited." Rathe snapped. "My patience is coming to its end."

With that he turned and strode past her, heading back down the stairs towards the main cavern. He intended to finally lay his head on a soft pillow and sleep a long and deep sleep.

Tomorrow would be a busy day.


	11. Three Deaths and an Obligation Fulfilled

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 11

Three Deaths and an Obligation Fulfilled

It was that curious witching hour of pre-dawn when the sky was beginning to alternate from indigo to violet and the stars were beginning to close their eyes on the night. Cold numbed every sleeping form at this hour of the morning when it seemed at its most biting and penetrating. One form shivered in his sleep beneath the furs of a cave bear; exposed as he was to the elements that flowed in through the sorry excuse of a tent he slept in.

Still, despite the bone chilling cold he slept.

Despite the roar of the waterfall only feet from his tent he slept.

Despite the lurking, insidious presence of the Shadow-Walker watching him, he slept.

The Shadow-Walker moved closer to the slumbering man, not bothering to deliberately quieten his steps; the snores of the man and roar of the waterfall easily drowned out the slight crunch of padded boots on thick snow.

Ennodius Pappius rolled in his sleep, unaware of his impending doom hovering like a hawk above him. He licked dry lips with a parched tongue and murmured something incomprehensible in his sleep. A snowflake drifted down to caress his cheek gently before his body heat melted it into nothingness.

The Shadow-Walker nocked his bow and drew back on the string slowly to avoid the creak of wood as it bent in that unnatural killing angle. The sun peeked up from the horizon at the exact moment he let the string release and for a second the arrow glinted like burnished gold before it shot forth into the unsuspecting throat of the slumbering man. The arrow pierced the man with such speed and strength that it pinned him to the earth beneath his tent which soon began drinking in the blood that seeped from the punctured carotid artery.

The Shadow-Walker re-slung his bow and turned away as gulls wheeled and dived overhead… drawn to the impending feast.

* * *

He moved through the night like a dark moonbeam; silent, undetectable and leaving no trace of his passage. The small town was blanketed with snow, the cold white kiss that covered land and building like frosting on a cake. The Shadow-Walker launched from the bough of a tree to the overhanging roof of the town barracks. He landed on the thatched roof, his movements silenced by the insulating snow.

He moved silently and carefully along the eaves and rounded a corner to see Dawnstar in her night glory, glittering in the moonlight like a bauble at the throat of a dark-skinned woman. Clouds scudded across the night sky, covering then revealing the faces of Skyrim's twin moons that shed their gentle glow on the town below.

The Shadow-Walker retrieved the wicked wooden bow from his back and handled the weapon in loving hands. He pulled a plain, unadorned steel arrow from his quiver and carefully readied the bow. He looked down the length of the arrow; pale eyes reflected in the moonlight like some nocturnal bird of prey.

The shot would be long and difficult.

A miner stood over the glowing smelting pot, her movements hampered by weariness and the Shadow-Walker wondered if she had been at work all day. Surely the onset of night should have been enough to have made her put down her steel tongs, yet the rumours around town of Beitild Iron-Breaker was that nothing in her life stirred her heart as much as working the metal. A cold lady, warmed only by molten ore.

The Shadow-Walker let the arrow slide through his fingers and watched for one breathless heartbeat as it tore the night sky and pierced through the woman's flesh between her shoulder blades. The arrow tore through muscle, sinew and organ material and continued to pierce through the flesh and coarse material of her shirt out the other side.

Beitild gasped and choked on the blood that was rapidly spilling into her lung sac. As she sank to her knees in the snow the Shadow-Walker was already sliding back through the night and away from Dawnstar…

* * *

Glorious sunlight warmed the late afternoon and set the rushing river dazzling and dancing as light played on crystal clear water. Birds chirped in their nests, content and warm in the sunlight, and far away in the distance the lazy roar of a bear trumpeted through the stillness. The scene was the illustration of tranquillity itself.

Except for the cloaked and hooded Shadow-Walker sliding silently through the undergrowth towards a ramshackle, abandoned shack.

Sweat trickled down his back, rolling in rivulets down the curves of his well-defined muscles and seeped into the lining of his armor. It was far too warm a day to be covered in cloak and hood yet the Shadow-Walker did not remove his coverings.

He entered the semi-shade of the crumbling ruin of a building and felt relief as the cool shadows embraced him. The Shadow-Walker settled in to wait for the hapless beggar to wander up from the stream with a catch of fresh fish wriggling in his arms.

The last fish he would ever take from the stream.

A mournful, tuneless humming came to the Shadow-Walker's ears as Narfi wandered up the hill towards the shack that he called his home. His arms were empty; apparently the fish weren't biting today.

The metallic hiss of metal on metal sounded in the still air of the dark shack as the Shadow-Walker drew both blades from their crisscrossed sheathes across his back. He watched the beggar wander across to a deposit of iron ore set against one of the cliff edges surrounding the shack and waited until the beggar half-heartedly set to work with a blunt pick. When alcohol wasn't fuelling his laziness, Narfi would, on occasion, supply the smith with iron ore for smelting.

The Shadow-Walker crept up behind the beggar and wrinkled his nose at the pungent odour emanating from the man; sweat, alcohol and an unwashed body, rank from the balmy temperature of the day.

In one fluid movement the Shadow-Walker thrust both of his blades forward and felt them shudder as they slid into the man's soft flesh. Narfi gasped and jerked spasmodically as the blades tore through his flesh and hit solid rock on the other side of his body. The jerking and twitching continued as the impaled beggar began to die.

The Shadow-Walker ripped his blades back out of the beggar's body and watched dispassionately as the man flopped to the ground where he flapped about like a fish on land. Dark blood, illuminated crimson in the sunshine, pooled around the dying man's body and begged the Shadow-Walker to gaze into its red reflective surface almost hypnotically.

The Shadow-Walker waited until the last gasp had passed the dying man's lips then pulled his hood lower over his face and turned away from the horrific scene at his feet. A fresh rivulet of sweat ran down his spine as he slipped away from the scene…


	12. Dangerous Games and the Laughing Fool

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 12

Dangerous Games and the Laughing Fool

_ Sundas, 14__th__ of Heart Fire _

_I often wonder why people choose to play games. Why would someone as intelligent and powerful as Astrid risk all that she has in playing games with me? Surely she knows I can – and will – end her life in a heartbeat if she does not come through with her veiled promises of information. I find it fascinating that she is so willing to play this dangerous game simply to keep me around rather than admit that she cannot – or will not – help. And for this fascination alone I will play along… for a time._

The door did not question Rathe this time as he approached; it simply whispered 'welcome home' and allowed his to enter. A curious sensation of welcomeness pervaded the Shadow-Walker as he slid inside. He moved with his customary grace and silence through the antechamber at the entryway to the sanctuary, fully expecting to find Astrid languidly waiting for him at her favourite haunt atop the stairs. She was not there this time and the Shadow-Walker continued through the hall, moving towards the large cavernous chamber of the sanctuary. As he got closer, voices raised in a general hubbub filled the air and his natural caution and instincts told him to proceed carefully.

The Dark Brotherhood 'family' were clustered around a curious box and an even more curious little man that appeared to be hopping from one foot to another.

Rathe frowned as he looked at the man, attired in a motley jester's outfit and recalled the strange little man from a random meeting on the road a few weeks back. The little man's cart had come afoul of a boulder and had lost a wheel. Despairing that he'd be able to get his mother home, the little man had begged Rathe's assistance in moving the cart. The Shadow-Walker, not one to pry into others' affairs had felt strangely compelled to aid the little man and had coerced a nearby farmer into lending aid and sustenance to the jester.

Rathe was curious as to why the little man had found his way to the Dark Brotherhood.

"But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her Will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely… punishment?"

Arnbjorn glowered at the dancing man.

"Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets 'punished'."

The old mage waved a hand at the werewolf.

"Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog. The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition."

Cicero grinned and jumped on the spot rapidly. He was making Rathe dizzy with his jubilant performance.

"Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn out Lady's favour!"

Astrid, silent until now finally spoke.

"You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood husband?"

Arnbjorn harrumphed but did not disagree with his wife.

Cicero turned his beady eyes on Astrid and Rathe's blood chilled at the sight of those eyes.

There was something… not quite right… about them.

"Oh yes, yes yes! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" He cried in that annoying high pitched whine he had.

Astrid took one step closer to the little man and spoke; her voice was now two octaves lower than usual.

"But make no mistake. I am the leader of this sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?"

Rathe's eyes flicked back to Cicero and he saw the brief look of rage that slid across the jester's eyes before he became self-deprecating again.

"Oh yes, mistress. Perfectly! You're the boss!"

Rathe wondered whether anyone else had noticed the look across the jester's face but before he could study the small gathering further they began to break off in twos and threes.

Astrid turned and started towards the stairs and noticed Rathe standing there. She approached him and turned on her purr.

"Did you see that little demonstration just then? What a performance!"

Rathe nodded and said quietly, "He's quite the character isn't he."

Astrid snorted.

"Character. That's apt."

The Shadow-Walker shook his head as if to indicate he didn't really care about Cicero or his antics.

"What have you found out about the Albino?"

Astrid's lips turned up into her sensual smile.

"Oh handsome, you're straight into business… I like that in a man."

Rathe didn't bother answering her; nor bother to inform her he'd provided his name already to the Brotherhood. By now she no doubt knew his name, his history and his favourite food (sweet rolls), but if she chose to continue with handsome, so be it. He'd been called far worse in his time.

She waited a few moments and when it became obvious he was not going to say anything else Astrid's smile faded.

"I've not been able to find anything yet."

She noticed his pale eyes cool and his expression darken and she held up a hand and continued in a rush.

"But I have my feelers out there, Handsome. These things take time… you have to appreciate that."

"Time enough for me to do a few more contracts for you." He snapped.

Astrid's expression tightened.

"You know the deal."

"I know the _game_." Rathe corrected, leaning down and looking into her beautiful green eyes.

Astrid inhaled his scent of leather, spices and sweat and wondered what he would do if she suddenly stretched forward and sucked on those pouting lips of his…

Instead she smiled again.

"Good. Then you also know the rules. Now. I assume you've completed the contracts for Nazir?..."

Rathe straightened up and breathed out deeply. Different possibilities about what to say or do next flashed through his mind (including blood and death), but instead he simply nodded.

"Then go and see him, get your well-earned coin and hurry back to me. I have a… special… contract just for you handsome."

Rathe gritted his teeth and fixed her with his pale eyes once more. He glared at her for a few moments then breezed past her and headed back into the main cavern of the sanctuary. As he strode through the cavern, Rathe passed the little jester and noticed the man was murmuring to the large wooden box. Rathe caught the terms 'mother' and 'home'.

"You mean that's the Night Mother you have boxed up in there?"

Cicero spun around and for a split second Rathe noticed the eyes of the jester were narrowed and hateful; the little man's hand pressed to the dagger at his hip. His face split into a wide smile as he recognised Rathe and he resumed his joyful dancing while exclaiming, "Another member of the family! Hello, hello. So very good to meet you!"

"We've met before."

The little man frowned.

"Wait, oh wait… I know you! Yes, yes! From the road! Cicero never forgets a face! And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero. You talked to Loreius, got him to fix my wheel! Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother. And out mother, she will never forget."

He began jumping up and down again and Rathe found himself suddenly very irritated by the little man.

"Right, well, why don't you tell her she can return the favour any time… I don't suppose _she_ knows where I can find the Albino?"

Cicero frowned suddenly.

"Albino? Albino? Who is this Albino?"

Rathe shrugged his shoulders.

"Never mind. Just a man I'm looking for."

Cicero brightened.

"Well if the Night Mother finds him, Cicero will be sure to let the nice helpful man know, oh yes he will!"

"Great. You do that." Rathe said drily, already walking away from the little jester. He shook his head as he went; still trying to determine if the man was exceptionally clever and playing the fool, or exceptionally foolish playing at being clever.

Rathe made his way through the sanctuary keeping an eye out for the Redguard as he went but was unsurprised when he found the man in the dining hall holding a cup of mead. He liked his drink it seemed.

The Redguard was deep in conversation with the mysterious dark elf as Rathe approached. He overheard them discussing Cicero and his lips quirked as he listened to Nazir rattling off a list of people he despised including; mimes, minstrels, thespians or tumblers and that flutists gave him a headache. He finished by saying that though he wasn't too keen on the corpses of dead women he would afford the Night Mother with the respect she was due.

Gabriella agreed in her throaty voice.

"I find the little man too exuberant for my tastes but I too agree that the Night Mother must be afforded every respect and courtesy we can provide."

She glanced over Nazir's shoulder as Rathe approached.

"And what does our newest member think of these strange turn of events?"

Nazir turned and eyed Rathe carefully.

"I don't give two figs one way or another whether the fool is the Keeper or Sithis himself in disguise."

Nazir grinned and Gabriella gave a mock gasp of horror.

"Oh such scandalous and scurrilous words brother! You really do enjoy living dangerously."

Rathe shrugged and turned his gaze pointedly on Nazir. The Redguard nodded.

"Excuse us sister, it would appear we have some business to take care of."

Gabriella bowed deeply.

"Oh please don't let me stand in the way of the exchange of gold for services rendered."

She folded her hands into the sleeves of her robe and glided out of the dining hall on silent feet.

Nazir took a swig from his cup and turned to Rathe.

"You really don't care about this so called Keeper and the Night Mother?"

Rathe shrugged again and said no more. In truth, he _was_ interested in what the little man portended… and whether or not the Night Mother was truly inside that great wooden box out there. He had served her faithfully in Cyrodil and had made the pilgrimage with Dren to visit the hallowed Bravil sanctuary where she was entombed. Worship of the Night Mother had been instilled in the man at a young age and though he hadn't thought of her cold presence in years, the thought that She may be inside that box made his hairs now stand on end.

Nazir returned the Shadow-Walker's shrug.

"I assume you're here to collect for the contracts you took?"

Rathe nodded once, quickly.

"All three have been eliminated?"

Again he nodded; once.

Nazir's lips stretched back into a wide toothy smile.

"Congratulations. You've killed an unarmed woman, a helpless beggar and a paranoid recluse. How dangerous you must feel…"

Rathe didn't succumb to the bait laid before him and simply held his hand out, palm up, awaiting his payment. He knew that Nazir was trying to shame him into asking for a more dangerous contract. Clearly Astrid had been working on the Redgaurd. Nazir sighed deeply and reached into the folds of his Alik'r cloak. He withdrew a coin purse and tossed it to the Shadow-Walker. Rathe caught the purse and weighed it carefully in his hand. He reckoned there must've been 1,500 gold pieces in the purse. More than fair for the pathetic excuse for contracts he had undertaken.

_Astrid's hand at work yet again._

Rathe nodded once more to Nazir then spun about and strode out of the dining hall without another word. He passed through the cavern, pushing through the pervasive mist from the underground waterfall. He passed Cicero and shook his head as the jester pressed his ear to the box and muttered, "Soon, Mother… soon!"

Rathe took the stairs two at a time to reach the antechamber and there he found Astrid waiting for him.

"So, handsome. Was the remuneration sufficient?"

Rathe slowly walked over to her.

"What would you do if I said no?"

Astrid's eyes twinkled.

"I'd double it. Triple it… find _other_ ways to compensate you."

Rathe stepped close to her; close enough that their leather bound bodies nearly touched.

"You want me that badly?"

Astrid's eyes burned with intensity and her voice was husky when she spoke.

"I… _we_ need you that badly Rathe."

The Shadow-Walker noticed her dilated pupils, the way her breathing was shallower, her fingertips gently caressing her flat stomach. He knew she burned with desire for him, but he also knew that some of that desire was firmly entrenched in what he could offer her 'family'. Astrid was nothing else but a shrewd, devoted business woman. And her business was death.

"You know how we're struggling here in Skyrim. You've heard the stories… you can _see_ with your own eyes how we live in this... hole. You know what it _should_ be like…"

Rathe thought back to the sanctuaries he'd visited in Cyrodil. The luxuries. The trappings. Astrid raised her slender hand to his chest and traced the pattern of his armor with one long finger.

"_You_ can help get us there again…"

Rathe didn't answer her. He did not dispute that he could greatly help the Brotherhood and he wouldn't lie to himself that part of him wanted to do this; to be the Brotherhood's champion. To slit Arnbjorn's throat and take Astrid as his own. To rule the Brotherhood in Skyrim as the very embodiment of death.

He wanted all of this and yet… he wanted something else far more.

_Regan_…

Rathe gently but firmly pushed Astrid's hand away and stepped backwards. Confusion shone in her green eyes.

"It's all about you isn't it."

Rathe shook his head slowly.

"It's all about _her_ Astrid."

Astrid's green eyes lowered from his and she didn't answer. Rathe knew then that she had indeed done her homework on him and most likely knew the very finest details of his father, his mother and Regan.

"I know." She said in a quiet voice. She looked up and met his gaze.

"And I understand. And… I will help you. I promise. But honestly, I have nothing for you to go on yet. So please. Take this contract. Take it to keep you occupied. Take it to give me time to look into this Albino. Take it and do it well."

Rathe clenched his teeth together for a few moments and finally nodded.

"Tell me about this contract."

Astrid's smile returned and she said one word.

"Muiri."


	13. The City of Stone and a Wrathful Breton

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 13

The City of Stone and a Wrathful Breton

_Tirdas, 16__th__ of Heart Fire _

_The city of stone. An impressive place to be sure but not one where I would choose to reside. The stone walls for one thing make entering and exiting the city undetected dammed near impossible. The guards are intolerable with their overzealous sense of duty too. But most off putting is the lack of foliage in this grey city. There are no trees, no greenery… no life in this place. I cannot live somewhere without grass and trees. The sounds of wind rustling their leaves. Birds nesting in their branches… Regan loved trees._

The sun was sinking on another day when Rathe first entered the city of stone. The approach of dusk set the sky aglow with salmon pinks and pale purples and the last rays of sun shone down on the jewel of the Reach in warm hues.

On his entrance Rathe noticed the diligent Markarth guards checking visitors' papers and asking their purpose for setting foot in the city of stone. As Rathe mentally prepared his convoluted and entirely convincing reason for being within the city walls this night, a scream tore through the darkening sky and as one the congregating crowd turned to witness a brutal stabbing on the very doorstep of Markarth.

Rathe watched the guards spring into action and descend on the man with the knife who dropped his victim's body into the street and launched towards another unsuspecting citizen. The Shadow-Walker's own body tensed and his hand strayed to his well-concealed blades.

The guards of Markarth took down the killer with brutal efficiency; cracking the man's skull with a heavy mace in the process. He managed to cry out 'Forsworn' before succumbing to his own death. A crack of thunder tore through the sudden silence that had descended on the city and great blobs of rain began to fall into the streets.

As the heavens opened and rain began to pour down and mingle with the rich, red blood staining Markarth's streets, the guards began shepherding the onlooking crowd away from the grisly scene. Rathe slipped amongst the chaotic throng of fleeing people and was pushed towards a nearby doorway. He glanced at the wooden sign next to the doors and realised he was standing before a tavern. _The_ very tavern he required to be at as it happened.

Rathe slipped inside the tavern as the rain turned into a deluge and threatened to drown any hapless soul forced onto the streets this night.

Inside the tavern was warm though not stifling as most taverns in Skyrim tended to be. The main hall was large, gloomy and poorly lit. Rathe instantly felt comfortable conducting business in such a hall. He wandered over to the bar and was spied by a big Nord who was cleaning a mug with a dirty cloth. The Nord wasn't particularly friendly as he shambled across to Rathe.

"Need a room traveller?" In fact it was almost a challenge.

Rathe nodded and plunked a handful of coins down on the counter. Enough to be afforded a little better hospitality but not enough to be remembered.

_Never do anything to be remembered for._ Cardinal rule.

Sure enough the Nord's big blue eyes fixed on the coin and his face fell into a warmer smile.

"Will you dine with us traveller?"

Rathe shook his head.

"Just a cup of mulled wine Innkeep."

The Nord nodded and inwardly thought the traveller was probably some half breed elf asking for mulled wine instead of ale. Explained the aristocratic bearing, fine features and hawk like nose too. He set about warming a pot of wine on the hearth and promptly went back to his regular customers. Rathe sat back on the bar stool and observed his company.

A typical collection of Nords and provincials filled the tavern and he scanned the bar for any obvious Bretons in their midst. He was informed – reliably – that Muiri took her nightly meals at the Silver Blood Inn and spent most nights at the bar drowning her sorrows in mead. The Breton appeared to have some pretty serious sorrows indeed or else why would she need the Dark Brotherhood?

The innkeeper brought Rathe his cup of hot mulled wine, passed on a courteous nod then turned away back to his more interesting patrons. Rathe took the cup and slid off the stool and wandered across to the large fireplace. He made a show of sipping the drink as he warmed himself before the fire and continually scanned the large draughty hall.

The bard struck up a mournful dirge and the evening slid into that time of night when socialising died and drinking became serious. The revellers disappeared into the night and only the stalwarts remained behind, drinking quietly without conversation. The innkeeper turned his attention to cleaning his bar and collecting empty tankards strewn about the hall.

The sound of drumming rain suddenly penetrated the quiet hall as the tavern door was pulled open and a sodden figure dashed in. The woman squealed and stamped her feet as though being rained on was the greatest insult she'd ever been delivered.

The innkeeper smiled warmly at the woman.

"You're half drowned there Muiri! Can I get you a warm mead love?"

Rathe's attention was caught and he fixed his pale eyes on the woman. She peeled back tendrils of mouse-brown hair that were sticking to her face and turned her pale blue eyes onto the innkeeper.

"Oh thanks Kleppr. That'd be just wonderful. I'm going to warm myself by the fire."

Rathe watched her as she moved to the fireplace. She was small and finely boned like all those of her race, and though she was beginning to slip into the middle years of life she was very attractive. Her face was, however, pinched with a certain bitterness and Rathe suspected this was compounded by her slow descent into alcoholism.

Rathe waited another half an hour as Kleppr fetched Muiri's drink and broke words with her. The two shared the companionable banter of service provider and customer, though Rathe detected that Muiri's conversation was tinged with longing to share space and time with a person of the male persuasion. The way she leaned into Kleppr as he spoke and laughed at his blunt sense of humour spoke volumes about her loneliness.

When the innkeeper returned to his bar and Muiri turned her attention to her goblet of mead, Rathe moved through the dark hall towards her. She had no chance of hearing the Shadow-Walker approach and she flinched violently when he leaned in to her and whispered, "Muiri."

Her mead slopped over the edge of her goblet and she scowled viciously at him. One look at his pale eyes, black armor and tattooed face set her fierce expression cringing away.

"Who are you… why are you looking at me like that?"

Rathe reached out and took hold of her elbow. He drew her up and off her stool with firm pressure. She seemed helpless to resist as he urged her into the shadows. In truth, she was lost in those pale eyes as he leaned down and said into her ear, "The Dark Brotherhood has come Muiri."

The woman's eyes widened in alarm first and then her expression changed to one of surprise.

"Oh my! I… I didn't think you'd actually come!"

She reached out as though she was going to touch him then stopped mid motion, thought better of it and dropped her hand quickly back against her side.

"You have need of our services."

A frown flickered across her brow as though she realised for the first time exactly who this man represented. Her breathing quickened and she glanced around self-consciously. Kleppr was engaged in conversation with a man well on his way to being pickled and the only other patron was a Nord who was fast asleep by the roaring fire; twitching and murmuring in his sleep on occasion.

Muiri turned her big blue eyes back on to the Shadow-Walker.

"Is… is it safe to talk here? It seems so public."

"Anyone who happens to see you and I tonight will think we're two souls bound for a good night shared beneath the furs."

She had the grace to flush bright red even though his suggestion was not entirely abhorrent to her; she could only imagine what his body must be like beneath that black armor.

She nodded and bit her lip as though deciding whether to go on. Rathe knew that this was the most critical time in a person's decision on whether to have someone killed; the actual voicing of the deed.

She looked up into his pale eyes and blurted out, "I need you to kill Alain Dufont."

She sighed out long and hard after saying this simple sentence and he could tell she was reeling with the enormity of what she'd done.

Rathe nodded and repeated the name once to ensure it was correct and emblazoned in his mind.

"Alain Dufont."

Muiri nodded.

"You can find him and his band of thugs hiding out in the Dwemer ruin of Raldbthar."

Again, Rathe repeated the important part; "Raldbthar."

Muiri clung onto the fabric of her dress. As silence fell between the two she began to wring the dress in her hands and finally she said, "Don't you want to know why?"

Rathe shrugged.

"You've performed the black sacrament and I assume you can pay?"

Murri nodded vehemently.

"Then it is no business of mine why you want this man dead."

Murri frowned and Rathe realised that she needed to justify herself. So many of them did. He sighed inwardly and cursed mankind's conscience.

"But I'm sure he's wronged you terribly."

Muiri seized on the opening.

"Oh my yes! Long ago my family and the Shatter-Shields of Windhelm were great supporters of one another's houses. Unfortunately my own family succumbed to black lung and I was blessedly taken in by the Shatter-Shields. I became like a daughter to Tova and Torbjorn, and Friga and Nilsine were like my sisters. Then Friga was murdered and things... grew strained in the Shatter-Shield house. I… I sought solace in the arms of a handsome, debonair young man I'd recently met, Alain."

Rathe found it interesting that when she spoke Alain's name, there was still a hint of warmth in her tone; despite that she wanted him dead.

"Alain was exciting and dashing and all those wonderful things a man ought to be. He… he wooed me and even though the Shatter-Shields distrusted him, I loved him. I even defended him when Tova and Torbjorn accused him of breaking into their home and stealing their most precious relic. I defended him when Nilsine slandered his name. And then… and then I was shattered when I found the note he'd left me… admitting what he'd done and… and laughing at me."

Rathe listened silently and desperately had to stop _himself_ from laughing at her.

_Silly foolish girl. The things they do for love._

Muiri looked up at him and her eyes were now blazing with hate.

"Then. Then… then those… _bastard_ Shatter-Shields drove me out. Not just from their home but from Windhelm! The place I'd grown up! Severing my only link to my own lost family. Nilsine… my dearest best friend… she threw horse dung at me the day I left. I'll never forget the hatred in her eyes as I sat on the back of a cart bound for who knew where with naught but a sack of apples and a spare change of clothes."

Rathe nodded stoically.

Muiri suddenly lurched forward and seized his arm. She clung on with a surprisingly strong grip.

"And for that reason I want you to kill her too! Nilsine, in Windhelm, must also die!"

Now this _was_ a new turn of events. Two deaths for one ritual.

Rathe raised an eyebrow and shook her off his arm.

"That will cost extra." He said coolly.

"I don't care. I have gold now. I have been saving for years. I will pay whatever it takes. Kill Nilsine for what she did to me, and kill Alain Dufont for… for everything. I want the bastard to suffer too. Use this…"

She handed Rathe a small phial holding a clear liquid. He unstopped the phial and took a gentle sniff of the contents. Odourless and clear he was confused what it could be.

"Lotus extract." Muiri said.

Rathe looked at her and frowned.

"This is extremely hard to come by."

Muiri shrugged.

"I'm an alchemist. It's what I do. Dip your weapons in this when you deliver the final blow and their blood with boil in their veins before they die."

Rathe nodded and carefully stowed the poison in his pouch.

"Anything else?" He asked quietly.

Muiri opened her mouth, hesitated and then shook her head.

"Anyone else with Alain is expendable. They're all corrupt filthy thugs and deserve to die."

Rathe nodded again and thought it just as well she'd said that; when he went on a contract he left no witnesses alive regardless.

"Please… please don't think bad of me. I just… I just need this to happen to move on with my life."

Rathe considered telling her that he didn't care one jot for her or her morals but knew better than to rile a customer before getting paid. Instead he nodded and reeled off a standard line.

"The Dark Brotherhood never judge Muiri."

She smiled faintly and patted his arm. Gathering up her skirt she turned and walked quickly from the room; quite forgetting her goblet of barely touched mead. Rathe watched her leave and considered the job.

Logistically it shouldn't prove too much of a challenge; dispatching a collection of thugs had never worried him in the past. Snuffing out the Shatter-Shield woman may prove more problematic should she be surrounded by people in a public place but he'd find a way around it.

More importantly to the Shadow-Walker was where this job was taking him; Windhelm. Back to the home of the East Empire Company.

_A kill and a quick detour before collecting my coin… the Gods are kind._

A rare smile touched Rathe's lips as he wandered back to the bar to order a meal.

He suddenly had a very good appetite.


	14. A Contract Owed and Death Delivered

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 14

A Contract Owed and Death Delivered

The horse nickered as he plunged through the deep snow. Rathe tugged the reins to keep the beast silent and wished his own well trained mount Sicarius was beneath his thighs. Though speedy and sturdy, this mount had no conception of when to be quiet. A very important trait in a nag belonging to an assassin.

Rathe reined up beside a large oak and slid from the saddle to sink nearly to his knees in the powdery snow. Pale sun was gleaming down making him nearly snow-blind as he tied his horse to the tree.

He crept through the snow and even for one skilled in silent movement such as him, the going was tough. He soon worked up a sweat as he inched his way further towards the enormous stone ruin set into the mountain before him.

Raldbthar.

As he'd approached the ruin in a circumnavigating route he'd seen sunlight glinting off steel and he knew at least two thugs (probably three) guarded the exterior of the massive Dwemer ruin. From what Muiri had said, Alain Dufont drew a cohort of thugs to his banner; no doubt stunts like he'd pulled to obtain the Shatter-Shield family relic aided him in gaining his followers.

Rathe crept up the slick stairs toward the ruin and even though he was fixed on the task at hand, some part of him could not help but be awed at the massive, stone structure before him. He'd always had a fascination for ruins. It was Ayleid ruins in Cyrodil that first interested him and now here in Skyrim the immense structures of the Dwemer always drew his eye and made his breath catch in his throat.

Rathe peered up at the imposing structure and got a good view of the 'lookouts' wandering the stairs and keeping an eye out for danger. He couldn't really blame them for not noticing his presence, even though his dark cloak must've stood out amongst the sheer white of the snow. His natural stealth leant him the ability to meld in amongst shadows to the point of near invisibility.

Rathe silently withdrew his bow and took an arrow from his quiver and sighted the first of the three. A Redguard warrior, clad in scaled armor and doing her duty diligently, roamed the stairs of Raldbthar peering into the distance as though expecting trouble.

She was right to expect it.

Rathe's arrow flew through the air and burrowed into the right side of her throat, flinging her into the snow at the same time as it ended her life.

Before they had a chance to react, Rathe quickly brought down the remaining two thugs with precision aimed shots. He took grim satisfaction in the twang of the bow, the gargled scream of a bandit and the spray of red mist indicating the shot had hit home.

Rathe stowed his bow and crept forward up the great stone stairs towards the entry. He paused as he passed he bodies of the fallen thugs to ensure they were all completely lifeless. A killer he might have been, but he would not let a person linger on in agony while he could offer them quick, merciful release with a quick slash of his dagger. His shots, however, had been true and all three were dead; quick and clean.

The Shadow-Walker approached the great doors leading into the Dwemer structure and a strange chill touched him. Not one prone to fits of shivers Rathe brushed off the eerie feeling and pushed the heavy bronze door to descend into the massive ruin.

Rathe's sight was immediately hampered by the sudden darkness of the ruin, while a strange thrumming shudder enveloped him. The very structure itself seemed to hum and pulse with some kind of energy. He knew that the Dwemer were great experimenters with steam and as his eyes became accustomed to the darkness he saw evidence of this in the dazzling array of copper piping and vents belching plumes of steam surrounding him.

Rathe inched forward and soon spied a slumbering bandit, spread out comfortably on a sleeping fur on the hard stone floor. He grudgingly admired her dedication as she appeared to be asleep with her weapon still strapped to her back; a great two handed war-hammer.

Admire her though he might, Rathe did not hesitate to loose an arrow into her back. The thug died quietly in her sleep and Rathe continued on, further into the weirdly wonderful Dwemer structure.

He quietly slid through corridors and halls as that unearthly pulsing continued to thrum through him. He wondered what could possibly be going on below to make such a strange hum. Every corner he turned he saw evidence of steam powered machines at work; here belching plumes of fire horizontally, there steam hissing out from valves.

Rathe came to a sudden stop as the shadows in front of him shifted and a bandit came striding out of the darkness. She'd been well hidden indeed and one more step might have revealed the Shadow-Walker before she had given her own self away.

Rathe pulled his bow up and waited until she moved slightly closer to him.

He released the bowstring and heard the sickening crunch as the steel arrow head tore through bone. She fell flat on her back with a sharp slapping sound and Rathe crept over to her body to ensure she was dead. The arrow shaft protruded from her face and he surmised that she was indeed dead.

Rathe continued on through the winding halls of the structure, moving with silence and purpose as he approached a well-lit living area. He peered in through darkened hall and observed two thugs engaged in a game of chance, using knucklebones as die.

He fired an arrow at the bigger of the two thugs and before the arrow pierced the man's chest and sent him spinning to the ground, he's gotten a second arrow off and caught the second man in the stomach as he turned. Rathe knew the shot wasn't clean and he gritted his teeth as the man sent a wailing scream up into the air.

Rathe strode forward out of the shadows, pulling one blade free of its sheath as he went. He stalked the squirming injured bandit and as he neared, lunged forwards and plunged the blade deep into the man's chest. The bandit, pinned to the floor by Rathe's blade, looked up into the cold eyes of his attacker and swore he'd never forget those very pale eyes as long as he lived.

His promise held true; he died an instant later.

Rathe yanked his blade free of the body with an audible slurp and dropped into a fighting stance. He waited to see if the man's scream had alerted anyone to the Shadow-Walker's presence in their midst but no one came. After a few more tense moments waiting, Rathe sheathed his blade and continued on.

He passed through a large well-stocked larder and realised that Alain Dufont wasn't just here in hiding; he'd set up quite the headquarters here in this ruin. The man obviously planned to continue living here while he ran who knew what nefarious schemes and plots. Rathe continued through the dining area and crept down an unlit hall where off in the distance he could see a large, cavernous room flickering with the light of a campfire.

Rathe moved closer to the large room and picked up the thread of conversation as he slid through the darkness.

"…haven't spent Gods know how many hours over the years keeping her pure just to accept a paltry five thousand septims for her!"

"Five thousand septims isn't paltry, Alain… think what we could _do_ with that?!"

"No! She's young. She's nubile. She's a virgin… she's worth a damned sight more than five thousand septims!"

Rathe frowned as he listened to the strange conversation. Absently his hands slipped into a pouch at his side and he unstoppered the little bottle of Lotus oil poison. As he listened he deftly applied the clear oil to his blades.

"What happened to Momma ZuZu? Wasn't she bidding richly?"

A snort of laughter followed.

"That whore? She retracted her bid when she found out the girl's a virgin. Seems the very thing I've been protecting all this time is a deal-breaker to ZuZu… _not experienced_ enough for the Red Rose."

Silence fell for a few moments until a voice asked, "So who's still in the running?"

"Forsworn cult – though they haven't said how much they'll pay. Boethia cult – that's where the current bid of five thousand septims is… and some noble from Whiterun… Redguard guy."

"What would a Redguard noble want with her?"

"How should I know?" The voice belonging to Alain Dufont snapped.

"Well doesn't it make a difference to you? If it were my sister I'd rather see her go to a cult that are just gunna sacrifice her quickly and cleanly rather than some insidious pig who might do Gods know what to - "

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO CALL HER THAT!" Alain roared and there came the sickening crunch of fist against bone as Alain obviously smote the thug who'd spoken.

"She's nothing more than a Gods damned slut who hasn't found her true vocation yet." Alain snarled.

From his hiding place in the hall, Rathe's expression became ugly as a hot wave of rage swept over him. He unsheathed both blades and leapt from his position and charged into the room.

The bandits had no idea what Oblivion spawned nightmare this was that fell on them with spinning blades of fury. One was cut down before he had a chance to draw his own blade. A second retrieved his axe and came at Rathe but the Shadow-Walker's dance of death was too fast and too furious to be hindered by a mere axe. He cut the bandit down and spun on, dealing death and spraying geysers of blood as he moved fluidly through the chamber.

Alain Dufont, dressed in rich noble silks fell back in wide eyed terror before this whirling demon summoned from who knew what dimension. As Rathe cleaved through five thugs and made his way towards Alain Dufont, the cocky Breton wrapped his fingers around the hilt of a wicked steel hammer and hefted the weapon up.

"You fight well! But just how well against an enchanted hammer? We shall - "

Alain was cut off mid-sentence as Rathe lunged in beneath the man's upraised arms and flicked his blade deep into Alain's chest. The surprised Breton let the hammer slip through his fingers and winced as it clanged noisily to the stone floor. He looked down at Rathe's blade still piercing his chest then slowly raised his eyes to meet the pale gaze of the Shadow-Walker.

"Why?" He whispered as blood frothed on his lips and ran down his chin.

"Muiri."

Rathe gave the hilt of the blade a little twist.

Alain Dufont groaned in pain and shuddered as he slipped off the end of the blade and collapsed onto the fallen bodies of his fellow thugs. He thrashed about in agony as the poison slowly boiled throughout his body. As his heart slowed and stopped pumping, the boiling blood stopped flowing throughout his body and gradually the man became still.

Rathe glared down at the dead man and felt the rage-red haze slide away from his eyes. It had been unprofessional, unwise and wrong of him to rush into a room where he didn't know what he would be facing and go on a killing rampage.

Wrong and utterly out of his power not to do.

Dufont's casual description of the fate of his sister had totally clouded Rathe's judgement and the Shadow-Walker knew that he'd charge into the room like death's personal advocate again if he had the chance.

He slowly turned his gaze from the dead Breton and started scanning the chamber. His pale eyes fell upon a table laden with wine jugs, bread and documents. Rathe wandered over and examined the rumpled notes on the table. They were indeed offers for Dufont's sister, promising various amounts of gold for the girl.

Rathe retrieved one of the notes, freshly penned and sprinkled with fine sand to dry the scratchy quill markings and he knew it to be Alain's work.

_N, the sum you offer for the goods is insulting and degrading. The goods have been aged well for sixteen years, are unmarked and unsullied. If you want a chance at tasting such goods, you'll need to come up with a better figure. Until such time, the goods will remain safely in my hands. Alain._

Rathe lowered the note and frowned.

_The goods will remain safely in my hands…_

This girl is somewhere here in Raldbthar.


	15. Broken Hearts and Ruins of Stone

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 15

Broken Hearts and Ruins of Stone

Rathe moved through the dark steam filled halls of Raldbthar with speed and little caution; he'd already slaughtered the bandit occupants and doubted if there were any that may have survived who would choose to tangle with him.

He backtracked to the dining hall he'd encountered when he first came into the Dwemer ruin on his hunt for the Breton, Alain Dufont. Rathe noticed the small hallway leading off the dining area and he crept around the corner quietly. A small room dimly lit was laid out before him. The curious stone beds that the Dwemer favoured were spaced evenly around the room, and at the very far end against the stone wall lay a girl on one of those stone beds.

She was deep in sleep.

Rathe slowly approached, being extra careful to remain silent and undetected as he crept closer.

Despite the cool temperature in the ruin, the girl lay atop the stone bed clad in little more than a scanty night dress. Her chest rose and fell with her breathing and her small rounded breasts were clearly outlined by the flimsy, sheer material. A cascade of thick auburn hair fell around her face; the contrast of her pale skin against the richness of her hair was stunning.

Rathe looked at her as she slept and wondered just what sum of gold it would have taken for Alain Dufont to sell her into bondage.

That preternatural sense that only emerges when one is being watched suddenly stirred within the young woman and she opened her eyes. Rathe stiffened as she peered up at him with large, innocent eyes; the same hue as a storm tossed ocean.

The girl blinked rapidly and propped herself up on one elbow. She looked at Rathe sleepily and whispered, "You shouldn't be in here. Alain will kill you if he finds you near me."

_She thinks you're one of the bandits._

Rathe frowned as he looked at the beautiful girl before him. He was here on a contract for the Dark Brotherhood... a contract he'd carried out. This girl was a witness. She'd seen his face.

No one who saw his face on a contract survived.

The girl frowned as she looked at Rathe more closely. She took in the expensive leather armor, the well maintained weapons... the intelligent eyes set in that coldly handsome face.

"Wait... you're not one of Alain's men..."

She clambered to her feet; that sheer nightdress clinging to her body and revealing the goose bumps raised over her exposed flesh. Rathe recognised rising panic in the girl's large eyes.

"No, but Alain asked me to come and get you. There's a... problem in the large chamber below and he asked me to take you outside."

Suspicion  
and fear replaced the look of panic in the girl's eyes.

"Alain would _never_ trust my safety to someone else... especially someone he doesn't know."

Rathe raised his hands and took a step closer to her and spoke in a low, calm tone.

"Trust me, Alain said -"

"What's my name?" The girl suddenly asked.

Rathe blinked and frowned.

"This is no time for games -"

"If Alain really sent you then you'd at least know my name." The girl said.

Her lower lip trembled and Rathe knew she was terrified but he had to admire her will at standing up to him.

"Alright. Your brother didn't send me, but you have to trust me - you need to get out of here now." Rathe reached out to grab her am. The lovely young girl snatched her hand back and twisted away from him.

"Get away from me! Alain will kill you!" She cried.

Rathe made another grab for her but she deftly stepped aside and pushed past the Shadow-Walker. She ran down the hall and spun around the corner and out of sight.

"Dammit!" Rathe cursed and fell into pursuit.

For one so small and dainty, the girl could run. Rathe pounded along behind her as she dashed fleet footed down the hallway, not stopping to examine the dead bodies of the bandits that periodically dotted the stone floor. Her bare feet slapped against the cold stone and slid in slick blood, but she kept going and it was all Rathe could do to keep up with her.

He rounded a corner shortly after she had and came once more to the large chamber where he'd cut down Alain Dufont and his followers. Rathe slowed as he approached, his breathing a little ragged in his chest and peered into the dim chamber.

The girl was kneeling next to Alain's dead body, unaware or uncaring the blood was soaking into the thin shift she wore and was looking down at her brother with wide eyes.

Rathe moved slowly up behind her and she flinched as she heard him approach. She turned her two stormy blue eyes on his and whispered, "You did this. You... you killed my brother."

The Shadow-Walker watched her for a moment before nodding.

"My brother. My brother! My BROTHER!" She screamed and launched herself up from the dead body. She flung herself at Rathe with such fury that the Shadow-Walker was momentarily taken aback. Her small fists flailed at him and she snarled and sobbed as she struck him. Rathe stepped back before the tirade but she kept coming at him. Finally he grabbed her wrists and held them as she continued to wail and scream.

"Stop." He said firmly.

She kept flailing and wriggling in his grasp.

"STOP!" He shouted and he dropped her wrists to grab her shoulders. He shook her roughly until the girl finally did stop wailing. He released her and stared down at her. She shivered but met his gaze.

"I was sent by the Dark Brotherhood to kill your brother. It was a contract. Business. Nothing personal... but after what I heard I'd have killed the bastard anyway."

The girl frowned and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"What do you mean?" She whispered.

Rathe frowned.

"You have no idea why your brother kept you locked away do you? Why he threatened every one of the men who guarded you? I'll bet he's even killed one or two on occasion if they showed any kind of interest in you. Am I right?"

The girl's eyes were wide now as she nodded a small agreement.

Rathe stepped closer to her, noting that she flinched as he approached.

"Didn't you ever wonder about that?"

The girl looked down quickly but Rathe caught the look of uncertainty in her eyes before she hid it away.

"He is... was... my brother. He loved me. It was his duty to protect me."

Her voice was mechanical and Rathe knew she was reciting something she'd long told herself but he suspected that deep down she doubted if it were true.

"Your _brother_ made a mockery of the very essence of the sibling relationship. He embodied the debasement of love and deserved far worse than the quick death he received."

The girl looked up at Rathe, her wide eyes brimming with tears. What venom he had inside of him! What utter hatred and contempt towards her brother who, by his own admission, had been just a name on a piece of paper. What had he heard that made him so enraged?

Rathe reached into his leather doublet and pulled out the note that Alain had written. He held it out to the girl who looked at it but did not take it.

"Take it." He commanded.

She still didn't move.

"Take it!" He said more forcefully and snatched her left hand up in his. He stuffed the note into her hand and shoved her backwards.

The girl considered balling up the note and throwing it in his face but curiosity burned inside of her. Knowing it would mean agony, knowing it would mean despair, knowing it would mean _knowing_, she opened the note and read.

Alain's cold, crisp words told the girl her worth far better than the Shadow-Walker could have. He watched as she read, re-read and then re-read that damming note.

She let the note slip through her fingers and it fluttered to the stone floor noiselessly to land in the pool of Alain's blood.

She shook her head and whispered, 'no', as she slowly sank to her knees.

Looking down at the innocent girl, kneeling in her brother's blood beside the note that outlined his betrayal of her, Rathe knew he could no more kill this girl than he could breathe underwater. Her innocence, her childlike naivety reminded him forcibly of his own sister. He imagined doing to his own beloved Regan what Alain had done (and was going to do) to this girl. He _could_ have done it too. Their circumstances were not that dissimilar. Rathe, providing for his sister and father, could have sold her off to the highest bidder to secure a fortune for his father and himself. But he'd have sooner plucked out and offered up his own eyes than done such a barbaric thing to his own flesh and blood. And that Alain Dufont had done such a thing to _his_ own sister reopened a wound in the Shadow-Walker's heart that had never truly mended.

He lowered himself to the ground behind her.

The girl was in a state of shock; numb, blank, tabula rasa. The tears and heartbreak would come later.

"Come. We need to get out of here." He whispered into her ear.

The girl flinched; the only indication she'd heard him. Rathe gently tucked his hands under the girl's knees and beneath her arms and lifted her up. She was lighter than he thought she'd be and she fell back into his arms unresisting as he carried her through the Dwemer ruin.

They moved in silence through the ruin which seemed to be more hushed, as though the machinery respected the terrible events that had transpired within its halls and was pausing to allow them to leave in peace.

Rathe looked down at the girl's face, resting against his fur cloak.

"What's you name girl."

The girl opened her wide blue eyes and looked at him. She turned her head away and her eyes were the very embodiment of sorrow and misery.

"Fleur. Fleur Dufont."


	16. The Girl, Assassin and The Frozen City

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 16

The Girl, The Assassin and The Frozen City

_Fredas, 19__th__ of Heart Fire _

_Muiri's contract has been fulfilled. I'm heading out to check in with the East Empire Company before heading back to Markarth to collect my payment. All would be well except for the small complication I picked up at Raldbthar.  
Fleur Dufont.  
What by all the Gods was I thinking? Taking her with me? Leaving her alive? I'm watching her now as I scrawl this and she's deep asleep beneath warm furs, her face drawn in a frown in her sleep. Is she dreaming of that monster brother of hers?... Or the monster who killed him? _

Rathe lowered the girl to her feet as the great bronze doors of Raldbthar boomed closed behind them. She flinched as her bare feet sank into the snow and hugged her arms around her as foul, bitter wind whipped at the sheer nightgown she wore. Rathe looked at her and frowned.

"Wait here."

He disappeared back into the ruin, leaving the shivering, exhausted girl waiting in the dark on the stone doorstep. Fleur began to feel her extremities go numb with the cold; the same kind of numb as her head and heart.

Rathe appeared again carrying a bundle of furs in his arms.

He held out a pair of fur trimmed boots.

"Put these on."

Fleur looked at the ugly, heavy boots, no doubt three sizes too large for her and wrinkled her nose. She made no move to take them.

"Put them on." Rathe repeated in a sharper tone.

The girl huffed and snatched the boots from the Shadow-Walker's hand. She slipped her cold feet into the too large boots and stifled a sigh of pleasure as the warm fur encased her toes. Rathe moved up beside her and flung a heavy white bear fur around her shoulders.

She stiffened as he yanked and tugged the cloak to draw it tightly around her. Rathe tied the cloak tightly around the shivering girl, nearly yanking her off her feet in the process. He eased up a bit as he realised how light and fragile the girl was.

She looked up into his eyes with her large solemn blue ones but didn't say a word. Snowflakes began to lightly dust down and catch amongst the coppery waves of her hair. Rathe had an instinct to reach out and brush the melting snow flakes away but instead unfolded a white fur hood tucked beneath his arm. He pulled the hood over her head - a lot more gently this time, and securely fastened it around her neck.

"Better?"

Bundled up in the white furs with little more than her eyes visible beneath the hood, Fleur shrugged but still didn't say anything.

Rathe looked up into the sky and judged that true night would be upon them within the hour.

_Not enough time to get back to Markarth. But maybe enough time to make it to Windhelm..._

"We've got to move." He muttered, reaching out and grasping the girl's upper arm. He led her down the great stone steps of Raldbathar, steadying her as she struggled to move in the fur cloak.

They neared a hitching post where Alain's thugs had tethered their horses and Rathe cast an appraising eye over the beasts.

"Can you ride?" He asked Fleur.

Fleur didn't answer and when Rathe turned on her she simply looked at him with her wide eyes and very slowly shook her head.

"Great."

He continued straight on past the waiting horses, leading her carefully away from the Dwemer ruin that had been her home for who knew how long.

Dusk was well on its way to blanketing Skyrim when Rathe heard the nicker of his own steed. The Shadow-Walker delivered a heavy slap to the horse's flank in greeting and pulled the girl over to him. In one smooth movement he lifted her up and sat her on the horse's back. Fleur's eyes were wide with terror and she gripped the mane with her cold, blue fingers. She looked at Rathe with terrified eyes.

"Don't make me do this."

Rathe elegantly hefted himself up behind her, his steed staggering a little beneath their combined weight, and reached around Fleur to take the reins.

"You won't fall." He said quietly.

One hand held the reins and his free arm wound around her waist to keep her upright. The girl was rigid and sat frozen as they cantered away the ruin. It wasn't until the horse plunged off the cobblestone road and into deep slushy snow that she began to relax in Rathe's arms.

By the time the twinkling lights of Windhelm glittered in the distance, Fleur was firmly pressed against Rathe's chest, eyes closed and head lolling with exhaustion.

* * *

They reached Windhelm and sure enough night and another storm was approaching the windy city. Rathe nudged Fleur to wake the girl and deftly slid from the saddle. He helped the weary girl down and paid for the horse to be stabled.

A cheerful nicker caught the Shadow-Walker's attention and he turned to see a familiar black stallion leaning out of his corral baring big yellow teeth at the man. That lovely smile came to Rathe's lips as he wandered over to the horse.

"Sicarius!" He murmured, scratching the horse on his long, sleek neck.

The stable boy came up behind the two reunited friends.

"Oh so he belongs to you does he?"

Rathe didn't answer and continued murmuring to his horse.

"That nag's been having free lodging for nigh on a turn on the moons." The stableboy's voice was surly and he clearly spoke on behalf of the stable master. Rathe didn't bother to turn to the boy. Instead he reached into his pocket and withdrew a handful of coins. He tossed them into the snow at the boy's feet.

"This should compensate you for your trouble."

The boy scrounged in the snow and bit his tongue as he saw the small fortune Rathe threw for a few days care of the horse. The boy looked up to thank the man but Rathe was already moving back to his travelling companion.

Rathe guided the girl down the long bridge towards Windhelm reminding her to keep both her cloak and her mouth well closed. Fleur said nothing and tugged the cloak tighter around herself. Despite the warmth of the fur she was cold through to the bones and couldn't stop shivering. She was also weary, heartsick and still somewhat numb.

Too much had happened in too little time.

Her life - her sheltered, lonely life - was suddenly gone. The only real company she'd known throughout her sixteen years, her brother, was both slain and revealed as betrayer. And she now found herself in the clutches of the very murderer of her brother, and oddly enough, her rescuer.

Fleur was dimly aware that he was talking to the guards and securing their entry into the city but she was too busy looking up at the stone walls with wide eyes. It had been years since she'd seen civilisation and then she'd been but a child. Now here she was, lost, confused, cold, hungry and overwhelmed, facing a world that didn't even know (or care) that she existed.

The gruff man grabbed her arm again and began marching her into the city. Fleur had no inclination or strength to resist, and one look at the cold eyes of the Windhelm guys told her that she was probably in better company with this strange man than with them.

The odd pair passed through Windhelm's great gates and headed straight to the welcoming glow of Candlehearth Hall. Rathe tugged her into the inn and Fleur felt instant relief as the warm temperature inside surrounded and penetrated her.

Rathe strode to the counter and was for once relieved to see the Innkeeper remembered him from his previous stay at her establishment. He usually _hated_ being remembered but this time when the innkeeper's eyes widened in surprise Rathe pre-empted her questions and smiled at her.

"Lady, I must humbly apologise for my rude departure last stay. I was called away on extremely urgent business."

"Must've been urgent indeed. You left half of your things in your room!"

Rathe nodded and appeared chagrined.

"As I said Lady, it was very urgent business."

The Innkeeper nodded seemingly placated.

"Well, I figured you'd be back for your things one day. I've stashed them away safely. Want me to get them for you or are you looking to rent the room again?"

Rathe nodded and handed her a few gold pieces.

"As it turns out, yes I do need the room again."

The Innkeeper looked at the amount of coins he'd given her.

"Two nights?"

The Shadow-Walker shrugged.

"My companion is poorly. We may move on tomorrow if she is well enough, or else stay for a second night. I hope that's not an inconvenience?"

The Innkeeper frowned.

"No, just be sure to let me know when you're heading out so I can freshen the room for the next traveller."

Rathe smirked and nodded again. He deserved her ire he supposed. He gently guided Fleur to the room as the Innkeeper fetched his possessions. Fleur moved like in a dream state as Rathe pushed her towards the bed. She sat down gingerly on the soft, straw stiffed mattress while they waited for the Innkeeper.

She returned with an armful of Rathe's possessions, including his journals, and passed them to the Shadow-Walker. He thanked her gratefully and closed the door behind her as she left.

Rathe turned to Fleur who was shrugging out of her fur cloak and hood. He walked over to her and as he approached she stood and looked up at him blankly.

"Let's you and I have a little chat." He said softly.

Fleur's face was closed as she stood still in the middle of the room in that flimsy gown.

Rathe cleared his throat.

"You know what I am don't you."

The girl chewed on her lip and whispered, "Murderer."

Rathe winced at the term and scowled.

"Not what I was going for but I suppose it's apt. I was going for Dark Brotherhood assassin."

"What's the difference?" Fleur said in a flat tone.

"A murderer kills indiscriminately. The Dark Brotherhood generally kills for coin." Rathe said blandly.

"And that's why you killed Alain. For coin."

Rathe frowned again.

"Coin was only part of the reason, girl. You _know_ that."

Fleur's bottom lip trembled.

"I know he was the only family I had. Now I have no one."

"You don't have any surviving relatives or kin do you."

The lovely girl shook her head sending those copper waves bouncing around her angelic face. Rathe nodded again. He expected as much; no kin worth their own salt would've allowed her to be raised by such a fiend as Alain Dufont.

"What are you going to do to me?" Fleur asked quietly.

Rathe looked down into her glistening eyes.

_What am I going to do with her?_

Finally, truthfully, he shrugged.

"You know that the Dark Brotherhood doesn't leave witnesses alive."

Fleur didn't respond except to stiffen and suck in her breath.

"You must also know that if I were going to harm you I wouldn't have brought you here."

Fleur frowned but still didn't release the held breath or relax her tense muscles.

"In truth, I don't know what to do with you, girl."

"Fleur." She said in a tiny voice.

"What?" Rathe asked.

"My name. It's Fleur. Not girl."

Rathe's lips twitched. Here she was discussing her life or death with a Dark Brotherhood assassin and she was rebuking him for not calling her by her name! The girl certainly had fire within her.

Rathe finally sighed.

"Look… I have some things to take care of here in Windhelm and I need to know that you're going to stay in this room and not try to run away."

She looked up into his pale eyes.

"Am I your captive now?"

Rathe frowned again and said, "Well I can't let you go free until I've figured out what to do with you. If that means holding you _captive_ then so be it. Do I have to tie you up?"

Fleur shrugged and said in her flat tone, "Where would I go?"

Rathe's expression clouded and Fleur continued.

"I have no family, no coin, no clothes… where in the world would I go where I would not be either taken advantage of or turned away as a beggar?"

Rathe was surprised at her frankly intelligent analysis of her predicament and realised that though she may be innocent and naïve in a lot of ways, Fleur Dufont was possessed of her brother's keen intelligence.

"So… you'll just stay here." He asked.

Fleur shrugged again and moved to the bed. She gingerly sat down and realised how exhausted she was and how her body ached from the horse ride to Windhelm. Rathe watched her and felt sure she'd do exactly what she said. He grappled internally about whether to voice the sentence on the tip of his tongue. His head eventually won out and he leaned down to the girl.

"You know that if you _do_ run away I'll find you. And it won't be pleasant when I do… so you make sure you stay right here."

He spoke in the cold infused tone that he usually reserved for interrogation, intimidation or to deliver a message before slitting someone's throat. This tone usually had the desired effect of making the listener acutely aware that this was not a man to mess around.

Fleur's eyes widened and her lower lip trembled. One single glistening tear slid down her cheek.

"I will."

Rathe let his pale eyes bore into the girl a few minutes more until another tear slid down her cheek and she slumped her shoulders. Finally he turned on his heel and strode from the room, pulling both doors closed behind him. A twinge of worry passed through him and he again questioned his sanity in getting himself involved in this situation. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and turned away from the closed doors.

By the time he left Candlehearth Hall and felt the cold, biting wind of the city on his face once more, Fleur Dufont was pushed from his mind and he was focused on finding Nilsine Shatter-Shield.

* * *

The Shadow-Walker crouched in the shadows at the side of the Shatter-Shield home; a large two story imposing Windhelm monstrosity.

_They certainly have some wealth… no wonder Dufont targeted them._

The cold had well and truly seeped into his bones as he crouched though his discipline would not allow him to shift position. The only part he flexed were his fingers on the hilts of his matching blades to keep the blood supply flowing to his digits. He was unsure now how much time had passed but he fancied that he could see the sky lightening and wondered if dawn was approaching.

The Shadow-Walker wondered again whether he should have simply slipped the locks and entered the dwelling to snuff the Shatter-Shield woman in her sleep. He shook his head and reminded himself that a kill outside in the alley would be more easily put down to a mugging gone wrong. It never crossed his mind whether killing the woman was the _right_ thing to do. A contract was a contract.

The front door to the building suddenly creaked open and the Shadow-Walker's heartbeat leaped into double time as a pretty young woman left the premises. He recognised her from his reconnaissance as Nilsine Shatter-Shield and surged into action as she lightly stepped down her front steps. Nilsine was humming a pretty little tune under her breath and was completely unaware of the man looming up behind her.

The Shadow-Walker dropped his arms around Nilsine like a bear; one arm extended with the blade in his hand circled her waist and kept her still while the second arm rested a steel blade against her milk white throat. Before the woman had a chance to scream, that steel blade raced across her skin, opening her flesh and sending a gush of hot red blood down her front.

Nilsine's knees gave way and she collapsed into the snow as the Shadow-Walker stepped back to avoid the splash of blood. She gurgled once before falling face first to the icy ground. The Shadow-Walker looked down as a pool of crimson blood steamed onto the ground and slowly edged towards the steps.

He wiped his blade once on the woman's dress and sheathed the weapon. He bent down and rifled through Nilsine's pockets, taking her coin purse and snapping a necklace from her throat. He left the broken necklace lying next to her body then deftly slipped away from the rapidly cooling body.

He was already back inside Candlehearth Hall before the cry of murder went up throughout the town.

Rathe slipped back out of the room after ensuring Fleur was still safely tucked away inside. She was indeed; deeply sleeping and wrapped up inside the soft furs. He watched her for a long moment before heading back out to attend to the other pressing business in Windhelm.


	17. Pirates and a Fishy Story

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 17

Pirates and a Fishy Story

Dawn had brought a cessation to the howling winds and now a weak sun tried to break through the clouds overhead. It did little to warm the bleak city but did allow light to rouse the town early.

Rathe found the city well awake and about its business when he wandered through the cold alleys on his way to the headquarters of the East Empire Company. He strode with purpose through the Grey Quarter giving back the hostile stares of the Dunmer residents and noting the shadowy figure of Revyn Sadri quickly slip back inside his shop as he noticed Rathe moving in his direction.

The Shadow-Walker had no interest in the dark elf smuggler today however and kept going through the Grey Quarter to approach the city's Eastern gate. He pushed through the heavy outer gate and entered the Windhelm dockside area. The smell of harvested fish assaulted his nose and the caw of gulls overhead was raucous after the quiet of the awakening city.

Rathe descended the slippery steps that led to the dockside, avoiding a hoard of fishermen who were coming in from a fresh haul. The Shadow-Walker trod the pier silently, looking with great interest at the signs above the warehouse doors. He passed the closed door of the Shatter-Shields' dockside premises and supposed they would remain closed today. Not much farther on he came to a sign that bore a sigil he knew very well. The carved wooden sign bore the likeness of a galley with an intricate EEC writ atop the sign in large letters.

_And so I'm here._

Rathe reached out and turned the door knob and was surprised to find it unlocked. For some reason he expected the premises to be secured.

_Shouldn't a nefarious trading mogul's headquarters be secured?_

He entered the East Empire Company headquarters and was taken aback.

The place looked deserted. Cobwebs lined the walls and roof and descended in silvery arcs to the floor. The masses of shelves were mostly empty; here and there a lone crate sat gathering dust. Amidst the desolation, a man stood with his back to the Shadow-Walker, vigorously sweeping.

Rathe moved deeper into the seemingly abandoned building.

"Is this the East Empire Company headquarters?"

The sweeper jumped and turned to look at Rathe. A frown crossed his Redguard features.

"What's left of it anyway."

Rathe approached the man slowly.

"What's happened to the place? You closed down?"

"Pretty much." The Redguard said gruffly. "Getting so as we can't afford to keep this branch open any more. Damn pirates hitting us hard."

"Pirates?" Rathe asked, watching the man closely.

The Redguard sighed heavily.

"Yeah. Reavers from up North have been hitting our ships. Always lost a few ships to the damn vermin but now it's getting to be that only one in ten ships actually gets through."

Rathe frowned.

"Are these pirates attacking all trading companies or just the East Empire Company?"

The Redguard looked at Rathe suspiciously.

"Now why are you so interested in the woes of the East Empire Company, friend?"

Rathe fixed the man with his pale eyes.

"I just figured they might be attracted to ships moving large amounts of Skooma…"

The Redguard's eyes widened and his grip on the broom handle tightened.

"I don't know what you've heard Mister but we don't move that stuff anymore."

"Anymore." Rathe repeated. He tucked his hand into his breast pocket and withdrew the scrap of material that he'd found in the Skooma den down in Riften. He unfurled it and threw it at the Redguard. The man caught the material and examined it; holding it close to his face in the poor light.

"I took that off a man frequenting a Skooma den in Riften." Rathe said coolly.

The Redguard frowned.

"So? Lots of my sailors hit the Skooma dens when they get to town."

"In Riften?" Rathe said quietly… dangerously.

The Redguard wiped sweat from his brow.

"Alright, alright. We _used_ to deliver Skooma to the dens in Riften. But we haven't supplied them in months. We haven't supplied _anything_ to anyone in months. Surely you can see that!"

Rathe studied the man longer and sensed he was speaking true words. This place was in no shape to be moving goods – Skooma or otherwise.

"Who supplies Riften now?" Rathe asked.

The Redguard made a rude noise and spat on the floor.

"Who else? The same damned bastards responsible for bringing the pirates down on my ships. The Shatter-Shields, that's who."

"The Shatter-Shields?" Rathe said quietly.

"Mmm. Got their own supply ring going and it's been doing a damn sight better than mine since the pirates started hitting _only_ East Empire Company ships."

Rathe frowned and nudged an empty ale bottle with his toe, sending it spinning.

"Can you prove this? That the Shatter-Shields are moving Skooma?" He asked.

The Redguard frowned and scratched his chin. "Their operation is tightly run by a damned Dark Elf who keeps her lips shut tighter than a whore's legs before she's been paid. But… I _do_ know she keeps a log book of all transactions. You'd be sure to find something in there about their supply movements… and maybe the evidence I need about their links with those damned pirates."

Rathe smelled a hustle and took a step closer to the Redguard.

"So I get this book, you get the information you need to run to the authorities and they shut down the Shatter-Shields before I get a chance to chase them up about their Skooma supply huh?"

The Redguard threw up his arms in defence and said, "No, no no! You get me that book and I swear by the Nine that I'll give you ample time to chase up this Skooma business before doing anything about the Shatter-Shields… and it won't be telling no authorities neither. The East Empire Company has _other_ ways of making people pay who cross us."

Rathe nodded and pressed his lips together.

_Won't Astrid be pleased. I've just promised more work to the Brotherhood._

"Alright. I'll get this book. Where can I find this Dark Elf?"

"Suvaris Atheron. She'll be hunched over her beloved supplies in the Shatter-Shields' office two doors down from here."

Rathe nodded and turned on his heel.

"Wait!"

Rathe turned back to the man who was still gripping the broom handle tightly.

"Who _are_ you?" He asked.

Rathe stared at the man and said, "The authorities."

He left the confused Redguard and pulled the door firmly closed behind him.

Rathe glanced around the pier and saw only fishermen hard at work. He strolled two doors down to the Shatter-Shield signage above the closed door and tried the door handle. Once again he was surprised when the door opened.

_What a time to be a thief_ he thought to himself and slipped inside.

Rathe looked around the interior and nodded. _This is more like it._

Unlike the dismal East Empire Company headquarters, the Shatter-Shields' office was stuffed with containers, crates and barrels and smelled of pickled fish, spices and potatoes. A woman sat with her back to the door busily scratching away on a sheaf of parchment. Rathe watched a moment as she dipped her quill in ink and scratched away at the parchment with precise, birdlike motions.

The Shadow-Walker could tell she was Dunmer by the grey hue of her long neck and he assumed this was Suvaris Atheron. He considered simply bludgeoning her and thus be free to search the office for this logbook without hindrance but barbarity for the sake of an easy road was never something Rathe employed. He decided he'd go for deception instead.

He loudly stomped forward and called, "Ahoy, you there, are you the Atheron lass?"

The Dunmer flinched and spun around in her chair.

"You're not supposed to be in here." She snapped and rose to her feet. "This isn't a wholesaler you know, this is - "

Rathe waved his hand at her and cut her off.

"Me Cap'n said to come in here and pick up a shipment of salted beef."

The Dunmer frowned.

"What shipment of salted beef? What Captain?"

Rathe shrugged.

"Cap'n Dren of the fair Lady Fleur. He said get in there yer bilge-sucking bucko and get me salted beef! And I ain't leaving till I gets me hands on it."

The Dunmer crossed her arms across her chest and frowned.

"I don't know of any shipment for a Captain Dren."

Rathe frowned and took a menacing step closer.

"Ye be trying ter hornswaggle me?"

The Dunmer's red eyes flashed hotly.

"This is a reputable business and I am certainly no… _hornswaggler_."

She spun on her heel and strode down the length of the office to a cubby area out the back. Rathe followed her on light feet and listened to her string of curses about cursed pirates as she went. He watched from around the corner as she roughly picked up a leather bound ledger and began flicking through it viciously. _Logbook_.

She came to the end of the pages of scrawl and flung the book back on the wooden desk. She spun around again and was disconcerted to find Rathe nonchalantly leaning against the doorframe, picking his nails with a dagger.

"There's no record of a Captain Dren coming for any shipment – salted beef or otherwise."

Rathe shrugged, rudely spat on the floor and pointed the weapon at the Dunmer.

"I don't care what yer stinkin book says lassie. Me Cap'n sent me in fer his salted beef and I'll be hung from the yardarm if I don't comes back with that beef! Savvy?"

Suvaris nearly shook with her anger at having to deal with this insolent, pirate scum. She _hated_ pirates on a good day. And after learning that one of the Shatter-Shields had been murdered this morning, this was _not_ a good day.

Rathe leaned forward threateningly.

"If ye have a grievance then ye should take it up with Cap'n Dren out yonder. Ye'll see him on the Lady Fleur moored outside. And ye can explain yer scalliwaggin, pillagin ways to him. I'll not set foot from yer store till this is sorted."

The Dunmer opened her mouth in hopeless protest but seeing the big pirate raise an eyebrow rudely she knew she'd not get any cooperation from him. She huffed impatiently.

"Don't move. I'll sort this out with this Captain Dren."

She pushed past him, infuriated that the rude man didn't move to allow her easy passage, and barked her shin on a crate. Suvaris was in a fiercely foul mood when she limped to the front door of the office and flounced out. As soon as the door slammed loudly behind her Rathe slipped into action.

He swooped on the Logbook and flicked it open to ensure it was the right book he required. He saw pages of notes about shipments, descriptions and names of ships and contacts and cargo manifests. He tucked the book inside his leather doublet and strode out of the cubby area.

Rathe moved swiftly and silently down the length of the office and positioned himself flat along the back wall beside the door. He pressed himself deep into the shadows and waited.

It wasn't long until the door banged open and Suvaris Atheron came storming in to the office squawking at the top of her voice in her shrill tone.

"I've been up and down the docks and there's no ship called the Lady Fleur or a Captain Dren anywhere out there!"

Rathe's lips slipped into a smile as he silently slid out the closing door and left Suvaris Atheron to tear her warehouse to pieces looking for the scurvy pirate.

He walked two doors down and slipped back inside the East Empire Company's headquarters again. He headed straight to the Redguard who was chewing on a hunk of old bread. The man stopped mid chew, his eyes widening as he watched Rathe approach and produce the Logbook from his doublet.

"You've got it already?!" He exclaimed, spilling crumbs down his chin and jerkin.

Rathe nodded and wandered across to a large barrel. He rested the book on the top and opened it to start reading the contents; the Redguard peering eagerly over his shoulder.

Half an hour later Rathe knew that the Shatter-Shields did indeed move Skooma and were heavily involved with pirates.

Rathe straightened up and looked at the Redguard. The excited East Empire Company merchant was nearly jumping up and down on the spot.

"I _knew_ they were in cahoots with those damned pirates."

The Shadow-Walker mentally re-read Suvaris Atheron's entry where she outlined the plan to have pirates hired to reave competitors ships (most notably the powerful East Empire Company), thus allowing the Shatter-Shields to have a monopoly on smuggling illegal contraband – such as Skooma. The helpful Dunmer had further noted that the funds to secure the pirates' assistance were primarily paid for out of the Shatter-Shields' pockets, but in order to ensure his supply of Skooma was delivered on time, every time, a local Skooma dealer was adding his own coin to the pirates' pay and had even recommended men to swell their seafaring ranks.

A local Skooma dealer that Suvaris Atheron simply identified as the Albino.

The Redguard was babbling on about having his vengeance on the Shatter-Shields when the Shadow-Walker suddenly slammed his fist down on the lid of the barrel, shattering the wood and sending the contents of the barrel splashing over the sides.

"Hey!" The Redguard yelled.

Rathe suddenly surged forward and grabbed the Redguard by the lapels. He flung the startled man backwards against the wall, knocking the wind out of the man's lungs.

"You want this fixed? You want vengeance on these pirates? Then tell me where to find them."

The Redguard blinked and gasped for breath. The hands clutching his lapels released slightly and the Redguard caught his breath.

"Dawnstar." He croaked. "Dawnstar tavern. Home of pirates."

The Redguard began coughing and spluttering as wind came rushing back into his lungs. Rathe released the man and stepped back. Already he regretted losing his temper but that name so casually written in the Logbook had driven him into an unthinking rage.

_The Albino_.

Rathe lifted his chin and rolled his neck around, listening to the click and grind of bone as he moved. He clenched his fists and was rewarded by the snapping of his knuckles inside his gloves. The tension began to leave his body and he said quietly, "Then I will go to Dawnstar."

The Redguard nodded while trying to smooth his lapels. He didn't dare say anything to the man before him and the whites of his eyes nearly glowed in the dark room so wide open were his round orbs.

Rathe tucked the Logbook back inside his doublet and turned on his heel. He strode to the door and yanked it open, spilling pale sun into the darkened room. He paused in the doorway and turned back to the Redguard.

"Sorry friend. I was just… maddened by the injustice going on here."

The Redguard frowned and nodded as the Shadow-Walker closed the door behind him. Whatever had set that man off it wasn't the injustice of what was going on to the East Empire Company. But whatever – or whoever – it was had better watch out.

* * *

Fleur was awake when Rathe returned to their rented room.

At his entry she jumped up from the bed where she'd been perched and backed against the far wall.

Rathe moved with his customary grace over to the dresser and dropped his bow and quiver on top. He went about unburdening himself of pouches and his two blades while Fleur eyed him quietly from the other side of the room. Her gaze lingered on his steel blades as he set them down atop the dresser and as Rathe turned he caught sight of that gaze.

He folded his arms across his chest and said quietly, "You want to hold one?"

Fleur's eyes widened and she quickly shook her head. She flicked her eyes guiltily away from the blades and looked into his pale, cold eyes. She was surprised to see weariness present in his eyes and his mouth was drawn with fatigue. Fleur wondered when the assassin had last slept.

"What happens now?" She asked in a quiet voice.

Rathe scrubbed his hand over his face.

"Now I get a couple hours sleep and then we find a cart that we can hire."

"A cart?" Fleur asked.

Rathe pulled his bandolier off his shoulders and unbuckled his dagger sheath from his chest.

"Mmm hmm." He murmured.

"Where are we going?" She pressed.

Rathe moved over to the bed, aware that as he did so the young girl skittered out of his way and pressed herself up against the far wall. He sat heavily and began unbuckling the straps and buckles of his leather boots.

Fleur thought he wasn't going to answer her but finally he said, "Markarth. Muiri started this whole mess so she can be the one to take you in."

"Muiri?" Fleur said slowly, trying to remember the familiar name.

"The Breton who took out the contract on your brother. She was his lover at some point."

Fleur's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not going to stay with the woman who ordered my brother's death! Are you crazy?"

Rathe straightened up and looked at her.

Her distress faded beneath those penetrating pale eyes. She bit her tongue and regretted insulting him. She fidgeted as he kept those intense eyes fixed on her and she finally spun on her heel and turned her back on the Shadow-Walker.

Rathe's lips twitched as he eased himself down onto the bed. He stretched out his long legs and closed his eyes. He could hear the light foot falls of the girl moving about the room. There was a jingle of buckles and a metallic hiss and he knew she was unsheathing his dagger. He opened his eyes and stared up at the roof.

"Are you going to slit my throat while I sleep?" He said quietly.

Sudden charged silence enveloped the room and he envisioned Fleur standing there with his dagger in her hand, red blush creeping up her neck at being caught holding the weapon.

"You don't think I could do it, do you." Her voice came to him quietly yet defiantly.

Still without turning his head Rathe murmured, "I think you could. But I also know you won't."

More silence fell; thick and tense.

Then the sound of the dagger being returned to its sheathe. Rathe smiled as he rolled over onto his side and went to sleep.


	18. By The Rivers Dark

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 18

By The Rivers Dark

_Tirdas, 23__rd__ of Heart Fire – _

_It's been a slow and uneventful trip so far but tomorrow we will finally reach Markarth. Tonight we've stopped at an Inn in Old Hroldan for the cart driver loathes missing a meal (though he could certainly stand to miss a baker's dozen). I ride beside the buggy on Sicarius while the taciturn driver sits atop his buggy insanely clucking at his horse. The girl… she sits quietly in the back peering at me with her large eyes. I find her face hard to read – much harder than most peoples' – and I put this down to the childlike innocence she carries about her. She takes such joy in simple things like the stars glistening in the night sky, yet she still clings to grief at the death of her brother – a man she knows to be vile and corrupt. She is very much a conundrum to me. Still, she won't be my concern soon. Once we get to Markarth – _

Rathe's writings were interrupted as he heard the door adjacent to his room very quietly creak open. Someone was on the move. He rose, buckled on his sword belt and was peering out his own door before the person had even moved halfway across the tavern.

Rathe recognised Fleur's tiny form even though she was rugged up in her fur cloak. She moved with a lithe grace that even the Shadow-Walker appreciated and didn't hesitate once in her movements. She made it to the front door and slipped outside like a pale phantom.

_She chooses now to run_. He grumbled to himself. He crossed the tavern quickly and slipped out into the moonlit night after her.

The night was crisp and cold but stunningly beautiful. There was an ethereal quality to the moonlight that painted the darkness with caressing pale hands and caused patches of fog to shimmer like silver. Torchbugs and lunar moths flittered through the darkness like stars fallen from the heavens. Rathe had no vision for the beauty however; his gaze was locked on the small girl hurrying down the path away from Old Hroldan – dashing like a frightened doe.

Rathe followed her silently, cursing the girl and what he would have to do when he caught up with her. He frowned as he noticed her slip off the path and head into the soft undergrowth and brambles that lined the path. Rathe followed; keeping a distance but ready to swoop on her should he have to.

The sounds of rushing water and the dull ever present roar of a nearby waterfall grew louder, gradually drowning out crickets and frogs singing their night song. Fleur moved quickly and it was now obvious that she was heading to the rapidly moving river.

Rathe followed more slowly as Fleur picked her way down a steep embankment and came to a small secluded inlet where the raging river pooled in gentle lapping waves that splashed playfully against the stony ground. Moonlight touched the inlet and the water shone like quicksilver.

Fleur stood still looking down at the water and Rathe felt his nerve endings sing as he watched her.

_Is she going to drown herself?_

He started to surge forward to stop her when she suddenly shrugged the cloak off her shoulder.

Rathe came to a sudden stop and his breath caught in his throat.

Fleur was naked beneath the cloak.

Moonbeams descended from the heavens to caress her pale body and play a game of light and shadow on her skin, highlighting the arc and curve of her lithe young body. Her pale skin gleamed and the moonlight danced in her auburn locks. She was innocent, angelic… and utterly beautiful.

Rathe watched as she delicately poked a toe into the river, squealed and yanked it back out. She steeled herself and strode into the river, allowing the silvery water to envelop her.

She gasped and splashed sending rivulets of glistening water beading down her body.

The Shadow-Walker hunkered in darkness, his pale eyes locked onto the vision below him; the lovely creature bathing and frolicking in freezing water. He shifted his weight and his boot caught a stone sending it clattering down into the river below.

Fleur started as the stone splashed near her and she froze in her ablutions.

She turned those large eyes the same colour as a stormy ocean up towards where Rathe crouched and peered into the darkness. Her eyes passed over the Shadow-Walker as he held his breath and kept moving, scanning the surroundings for someone who might be present. Eventually the girl gave up and continued splashing in the river.

Rathe hugged the shadows and was unable to tear his eyes away from the young woman below. The way the moonlight turned the beads of water running down her back into liquid silver was entrancing. The way in which she periodically turned her gaze into the shadows as she splashed and twirled in the river was beguiling. She stole his breath as she frolicked and stripped him of all other senses as he hunched there utterly captivated with the sight of her.

Finally Fleur pranced from the river and folded herself up in her cloak. Bare feet carefully picked her way up through the stones and wet grass and she headed back the way she'd come. She passed the place where the Shadow-Walker crouched; moving not more than three feet from him.

Rathe held his breath as she passed and waited until she'd moved up the hill towards Old Hroldan before he slowly raised himself to his feet.

He glanced down at the empty pool of water, somehow not seeming magical anymore, then looked back up at the disappearing girl as she threated her way back to the Inn.

_ No wonder Alain was incensed at the offer of five thousand septims for her._

He shook his head wondering what in all the Hells had come over him and headed back to the tavern.

Fleur's lovely face was still on his mind as he lay back down on his bed and waited for sleep…


	19. Angels and Monsters

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 19

Angels and Monsters

_Turdas, 25__th__ of Heart Fire – _

_The temperature has dropped and I notice steam bellowing from Sicarius's nostrils. We must be close to Markarth. All is silent around us save the rumble of cart wheels. The girl is hunched in the back of the cart seemingly more withdrawn with every turn of the wheel. She does not want to go to Markarth… or Muiri. I can't say I blame her but what else am I to do with her? Muiri set this chain of events in motion so she can be the one to finish it. Gods know I can't keep her at my side any longer. She's too… disruptive…_

The city of stone loomed ahead all mighty and misty as the cart rolled up to the stables. Rathe clicked his tongue and urged his tired steed on, tucking his journal and charcoal stick back into his pouch. He would be glad to give Sicarius a rest and he slapped the horse's thick muscular neck in thanks as he slid from the saddle. He proceeded to the stable master to arrange for lodging of his horse.

Fleur's large blue eyes were locked on the city of stone as the cart rumbled to a stop and the taciturn driver climbed down. He clumped around to where the girl sat and offered her his dirty hand. Fleur looked at him and frowned.

She stood unsteadily, draped in her heavy fur cloak and edged her way to the back of the cart. She squatted and jumped down, stumbling as she hit land but recovering and sending an imperious look at the driver. He shrugged and turned away.

Rathe caught the man's sleeve and pulled him around.

"Needless to say, we value our privacy..." He pushed a couple of extra septims into the driver's hand and looked sharply into the man's eyes.

The driver nodded and grunted.

"I get it. You were never in me cart."

Rathe nodded and turned away from the man. He wandered across to Fleur who had let her fur cloak slip open revealing the scanty nightgown beneath. Rathe's eye was drawn down to the outline of her pale skin and he was suddenly forcibly reminded of what he'd seen that night by the river.

He surged forward and yanked the girl's cloak. Fleur gasped as Rathe tugged it closed, nearly pulling her off her feet.

"Keep this cinched up, girl. This is not a friendly city."

"Yet you're happy to leave me here." Fleur snapped back.

Rathe's eyes flashed and he whispered, "Not now, girl."

He took hold of her arm and marched towards the gates. Fleur had a terrible sinking feeling as they approached Markarth and as Rathe silently nodded to the guards, Fleur suddenly considered shouting at them to help her.

She held her tongue as they entered the city of stone.

For the girl who had spent a large portion of her life living in a stone Dwemer ruin, Markarth was not as impressive to Fleur as Rathe thought it would have been. She looked around with her big blue eyes taking in the unfamiliar sights, smells and sounds but pushed herself against the Shadow-Walker as the press of people became overwhelming.

It must've been market day and there was quite a crowd hawking and purchasing goods at the entry to the great city. Rathe was glad of the confusion as it allowed him to slip through the crowd with the cloaked girl without drawing attention to them, but Fleur was overcome at the size of the crowd. She was entirely unused to seeing so many people, and she was soon flinching and gasping as they pressed around her.

Rathe eventually positioned her in front of him and steered her by the shoulders; shoving away anyone who came too close. He guided her towards a door step and reached around Fleur to open the heavy door. He pushed her into the cool, quiet confines of a building and Fleur breathed easier as the door closed behind them. She looked down the hallway at a tall woman wearing a jaunty cap who was berating a forlorn looking man.

"Is that Muiri?" She whispered.

Rathe shook his head.

"No. This is a trader.

Fleur frowned.

"Why are we at a trader?"

Rathe lowered his gaze to the girl and looked at her for a moment. He reached out and gently pushed open her fur cloak with the back of his gloved hand. Fleur lowered her gaze and looked down at her nightgown; blood-stained, sheer and nearly tattered beyond repair. She blushed and pushed his hand away and pulled the cloak back closed.

"We can't have you wandering about like this anymore." Rathe said quietly.

He took hold of the girl's arm again and started forward. Fleur shook him off and flashed him an angry look.

"I _can_ walk on my own you know."

Rathe's lips twitched with mirth as she flounced in front of him and approached the trader's counter.

The Nord woman turned to her customers.

"Welcome travellers, and before you ask, no, I'm not Arnleif."

Rathe raised both brows and said blandly, "should we be speaking with Arnleif then?"

The Nord frowned.

"No, no. I _do_ run the place – I'm just not Arnleif. Are you looking to trade?"

Rathe nodded and pulled Fleur closer to the counter. Once again he pulled her cloak back and revealed her distraught night gown.

As the Nord woman gasped Rathe said quietly, "as you can see, she needs some new attire."

"Blessed Talos! What happened to you girl?" The Nord cried, rushing around from her counter.

Fleur glanced up at Rathe and caught his slight frown.

"My home was set upon by bandits. I barely escaped with my life – and certainly not my clothes! I've been wandering the wilds for days until this kind man found me."

The Nord turned her piercing eyes on to Rathe and the expression across her face was clearly one of scepticism. She studied his cold eyes, the dark armor and the sharp and numerous weapons bedecked about his person.

"Lucky for you then." She said in a low voice.

Rathe gazed coolly at the Nord and she finally turned away and dropped an arm around Fleur's shoulders.

"Come dear, let's get you dressed."

Rathe watched as the Nord led the girl into the back of the store. He leaned against the counter and lowered a hand to the hilt of his blade. _This could be it_ he thought to himself. In the arms of kindness the girl might breakdown and reveal all to the Nord. He wondered if this all might end in blood.

The Shadow-Walker fiddled with an apothecary satchel on display on the counter while casting periodic looks towards the back room.

_What's taking so long?_ he grumbled to himself.

Rathe curled his fingers around the hilt of his sword and began to straighten up.

_Something is wrong. _

He started to move towards the back room then suddenly rocked on his heels in a dead stop.

Fleur was walking towards him attired in the most stunning outfit. Figure hugging leather leggings ensconced her legs beneath a lightly draping shirt of soft white material. A blue shawl of soft lamb's wool, the same colour as her eyes draped across her shoulders and the Nord had taken a brush to the girl's auburn locks.

She was beautiful.

Rathe nodded at her.

"Presentable."

Fleur frowned and pouted.

"Lisbet said I was a vision."

The Nord woman walked up behind the counter again, her gaze on Fleur.

Rathe shrugged.

"It's about not having blood all over your skirt and your breasts hanging out."

Fleur flushed and lowered her gaze. Lisbet's lips pressed into a thin line and she crossed her arms over her chest.

_The man's a beast! _

She'd not been able to get any more out of the shy girl while she'd been clothing her. There was certainly something amiss here between these two strange characters but the girl was not giving up any of their secrets.

Lisbet snorted.

"The girl's a natural beauty. It is my pleasure to clad her in the finest designs from Radiant Raiment all the way from Solitude."

Rathe shrugged again and pulled out the coin pouch he'd taken from Nilsine's body. He tossed it onto the counter.

"This enough?"

Lisbet gingerly picked up the coin pouch. She was surprised at the weight of the pouch.

"This is far too much!"

Rathe shrugged a third time.

"We have need of other supplies… plus, isn't _the vision_ worth it?"

Lisbet flicked her gaze to Fleur and noticed the girl flush again at his cool words.

The Nord woman set about filling Rathe's pouches and resupplying him in silence. He waited patiently, playing with his dagger in silence. The girl stood in her new outfit, casting furtive looks at the tall man… in silence.

* * *

When Rathe and Fleur left the trader, the market crowd had died down somewhat and the passage through the city of stone was relatively clear.

Rathe noticed that Fleur was the recipient of glances and outright stares, not to mention the lewd grins of the city guard. He frowned and wondered if she'd have been better off cloaked and hooded rather than dressed up like a highborn lady. As they moved through the city, Rathe unsheathed a hand span of steel on more than one occasion to dissuade leering comments directed at the girl. Fleur didn't seem to notice the comments, the stares or Rathe's silent defence of her. Her eyes were cast down and she shuffled dutifully forward.

He guided her with one hand clenched around her upper arm and led her up a set of steep stone steps towards a doorway set into the stone. His grip was tight and constantly tugging and Fleur wondered how black and blue her arm would be when they reached her final destination.

She looked up at the sign above the doorway and frowned.

"The Hag's Cure… another trader?" She asked in a small voice.

Rathe pushed the door open and ushered her inside.

"A trader yes. But I have no need of potions."

They stood in the doorway for a few moments, their eyes adjusting to the dim, grim interior. A shadowy figure approached from the other end of the hall and Rathe recognised the Breton. Fleur looked at the woman curiously and held back in the shadows.

"You're back." The Breton said in an anticipatory voice. She touched her face nervously as she looked into the man's cold eyes.

"Alain Dufont is dead." Rathe said sharply.

Both women gasped. Muiri's breath was taken at the news that the man who had so grievously insulted her was dead… and that _she_ had caused it. Fleur's little cry was the realisation that this lovely woman standing before them was Muiri… the woman who had once been the lover of her brother… the woman who had ordered his death… the woman who had turned Fleur's world inside out and upside down.

Rathe stood silently and watched Muiri process the news.

"I heard that Nilsine also… met her end." She said quietly.

Rathe nodded once. He said nothing; nothing needed to be said.

Muiri suddenly surged forward and threw her arms around the stiff Shadow-Walker. She squeezed him tightly and when he did not respond she withdrew and blushed.

"I'm sorry…" she stammered, "I… I just… I can't thank you enough!"

"Thank me in coin." Rathe said coldly.

Muiri frowned.

"Of course."

She searched about in the pockets of her dress for a small bag of coin. She handed it over to his outstretched and waiting palm. Muiri's hands came together and she hesitated for a moment before slipping a ring from her index finger. She took hold of one of Rathe's hands and pushed the ring into his palm; circling his fingers around the metal band.

"Please, take this too. It has an enchantment on it that will aid you in making powerful potions."

Rathe opened his palm and looked at the ring. He nodded and slipped it into a pouch.

Muiri smiled up at him.

"Well… if that's our business concluded…"

She let the sentence hang in the air between them. Moments passed and he neither answered nor moved. A frown crossed Muiri's brow and she shifted from foot to foot.

"Ok then." She said quietly and spun on her heel. She moved deeper into the store, suddenly feeling the need to be closer to light. Muiri heard footfalls behind her and realised the assassin was following her.

She spun about and scratched her arm nervously.

"Was… was there something else?"

Rathe nodded.

"There is."

He pulled Fleur into the light and watched Muiri's pale blue eyes scan the young woman then turn questioningly on him.

"Muiri, this is Fleur. Fleur Dufont."

Muiri's eyes snapped back to the girl and a sharp scowl appeared across her features.

"Dufont?" She said.

Rathe nodded.

"Alain Dufont's sister."

Muiri searched the girl's face, her own nose wrinkling in revulsion.

"What's she doing here?" She said coldly.

Fleur moved closer to the Shadow-Walker. She did not like the way this woman was looking at her. Her heart was pounding in her chest and her throat was dry.

"When you killed Alain Dufont - " Muiri winced at this brutal statement "- you took the person who kept and protected Fleur. She has no other kin and no one to take her in."

Muiri's fists clenched and she said brusquely, "so? Why is this my concern?"

Rathe frowned at her, exchanging scowl for scowl.

"She needs a home Muiri. Work. Family."

The Breton snorted in disgust.

"The same things I had that her _brother_ took from me?!"

Fleur flinched and pressed closer into the Shadow-Walker's body. She did not like the way those vicious blue eyes glared at her.

Neither did Rathe.

He moved a step closer to Muiri.

"She is not responsible for what happened to you."

Muiri snorted again and turned away from them both. She moved across to a table and chairs and dropped herself into a chair. Over her shoulder she snarled, "and I'm not responsible for her."

Rathe moved across to her and leaned down. His nearness unnerved the Breton and she nervously played with the tassels on the front of her dress.

"She's as much of a victim of Alain Dufont as you were Muiri." He whispered into her ear.

Muiri looked up sharply.

"Oh really?"

Rathe, still leaning down over her, murmured, "Alain played you. Badly. But what he was doing to her was much, much worse."

Muiri abruptly stood, sending Rathe stepping hastily back. She looked up at him and shouldered past him, not even bothering to glance at Fleur. She stomped over to an alchemy table and busied herself setting up the alembic and calcinator.

Rathe moved up behind her and like a dog gnawing at a bone continued.

"She needs a home Muiri."

"Then she can find it somewhere else." The Breton hissed angrily. She threw a canis root into her mortar and pestle and began pounding it to a fine pulp. "I don't want the doe eyed bitch here reminding me with every breath of that bastard Alain! To be his sister she's probably as vile and corrupt as him. Why not send her to the local whorehouse? The little slut could find a home there easily I'll bet!"

Before she knew what had happened, Muiri was suddenly flung against the wall. The Shadow-Walker's body was pressed against hers, his hands clamped around both arms pinning her to the wall. Pale, ice cold eyes glared down at her and a look of fury touched his features.

"Speak of her like that again and I'll take your tongue."

Muiri shuddered and clenched her knees together to keep her bladder from giving way. Her death loomed up before her eyes and his eyes were pale.

Rathe released her suddenly and stepped back. He looked at her with an expression of disgust across his fine features and growled, "you're right Muiri. She needs a home… not a viper's nest."

He turned on his heel and strode away from her, grabbing Fleur on his way. The young girl was wide-eyed and open mouthed having witnessed the entire scene. She met Muiri's gaze one last time before the Shadow-Walker ushered her back to the front door.

He paused as they entered the dark hallway.

"I'm sorry you had to hear those things, girl."

Fleur frowned and bit her lip. After a moment of silence she said, "you're sorry she insulted me… but you're not sorry she had my brother killed."

Rathe looked at her sharply.

"We've been over this. _I'm_ not sorry I killed your brother and I don't expect her to be. I _am_ sorry that you can't see him for the monster he was!"

Fleur lowered her gaze.

"Maybe he was. But maybe the woman who ordered his death was too… and you had no hesitations about leaving me in _her_ care."

Rathe opened his mouth to retort but Fleur interrupted, "I ask you who is more monstrous then? My brother, Muiri… or the man who wielded the blades?"

The Shadow-Walker frowned at her. "We're all monsters, girl. The question is, which monster will hurt you the least?"

He grabbed her arm again, painfully this time, and walked her towards the door.

"Fleur." She said quietly. "My name is Fleur… not _girl._"

The two headed out into the city of stone once more.


	20. Incense and a Farewell

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 20

Incense and a Farewell

_Turdas, 25th of Heart Fire – _

_I leave for Dawnstar aptly enough at dawn tomorrow… to find the trail. His trail. The Albino… finally. I must report back to Astrid too some time… I may not be 'of the family' but a contract is a contract and I'm obliged to tell her this one is done. Plus, I could use the coin she owes me – outfitting that girl was expensive business. The girl… dammit. I wasn't going to write about her again. What's done is done. Dawnstar awaits._

Fleur's heart was racing and her breathing ragged as Rathe tugged her up the steep stone steps of Markarth. The city was precarious and its stairways hugged the cliffs dangerously. She clung onto the Shadow-Walker's arm and kept her gaze locked onto the steps beneath her feet, not daring to look over the edge of the cliffs to the spiralling descent below.

Rathe charged up the stairs without hesitation; fleet and sturdy of foot like a mountain goat. He pulled her along roughly and Fleur was sure he was still fuming from their encounter with Muiri… and their cryptic conversation in the Hag's Cure.

Fleur thought of the way he'd butchered her brother and his men.

_Monster_.

Then she thought of how he'd carried her from Raldbthar in gentle arms.

_Angel?_

His sharp, barbed words and those oh so cold eyes.

_Monster_.

His gentle touch… that small smile…

Fleur was utterly confused by the complexity of her feelings for this man. It didn't help that her raw nerves, already frayed from recent events, had been plucked like harp strings by the cruel words of the Breton Muiri. Her thoughts were so introspected that she didn't even realise he'd come to a stop. She bumped into him and finally looked up.

They were standing on a small plateau at one of the highest points of the city. The vista was absolutely breathtaking. Fog and mist shrouded parts of Markarth while pale sun shone down on the city causing the waterfall in the middle of town to glisten and dance. The intricate bronze and copper edgings that the Dwemer city was famous for glinted dully in the sunlight making the entire city look like a piece of burnished armor.

Fleur had no interest in the stunning view however. Another typical Markarth bronze door set in a stone building of strange design loomed above Fleur. There was no sign or marker outside the door and she frowned wondering where he'd taken her to now.

Rathe pushed the door open and pulled her inside.

Immediately the scent of incense and camphor overwhelmed the girl. She followed close on Rathe's heels as they moved through a darkened hallway towards the warm glow of lit candles. Wind chimes tinkled from the rafters overhead and a soft melodic chanting filled her ears and was oddly soothing.

They came to an antechamber where candles cast warm glowing light from their sconces, and an alter dominated the centre of the room. A large, imposing shrine rested on the alter and commanded attention. Fleur noticed homage beneath the shrine; bread, fruit, wine and baubles had been left.

One of her only forms of entertainment while living under her brother's tyrannical thumb had been immersing herself in literature. The girl had an insatiable appetite for books and consequently knew Nirn better for its lore than for the real world itself. Although her brother did not believe in the Gods, Fleur had secretly believed them to be very romantic and idealised their possible existence and guiding hand over mortal lives. She recognised the shrine to Dibella at once and was immediately curious as to where they were.

A serene woman wandered towards them, her hands buried deep in the voluminous sleeves of her robes.

"Welcome travellers. Welcome to the Temple of the blessed Dibella."

Rathe nodded solemnly to the priestess.

"Greetings sister. I have need of your aid."

The priestess glanced around him at Fleur and she smiled warmly at the girl.

"Greetings young woman. Truly you are touched by Dibella."

Fleur blushed and looked down at her feet.

A frown skittered across Rathe's face.

"Yes… the girl is why I have come seeking your aid."

The priestess turned to him and looked at him properly for the first time since they'd entered. She frowned and stiffened as she noticed his dark armor and plethora of weaponry. Her tone was clipped when she spoke.

"We do not usually allow weapons within the temple."

Rathe nodded.

"I won't be staying long sister. Pray forgive me."

She sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest. She inclined her head indicating that he continue.

"As you yourself have seen, the girl is most definitely blessed by the Divines. Possessed of beauty, wit and grace she would make for an exemplary priestess."

Fleur's gaze snapped up and a sharp scowl touched her pretty features. _Priestess?_

The priestess of Dibella did not fail to notice the girl's expression and she said mildly, "I'm not too sure if she fancies that notion."

Rathe looked over his shoulder at Fleur who quickly removed any trace of a scowl from her face. She looked at him blandly and had to bite her tongue to keep it in her mouth and not poke it out at him. Rathe frowned at her.

"Go sit over there, girl."

Fleur frowned again and snapped, "It's FLEUR!" before stomping off to a comfortable chair in the antechamber.

Rathe turned back to the priestess.

"I'm sure Dibella appreciates some fire in her initiates."

The priestess folded her arms.

"Fire yes. Fear, no."

Rathe's eyes narrowed.

"You think she's afraid?"

The priestess shrugged.

"I assure you she'd not afraid of the Goddess." Rathe snapped.

"I didn't say she was afraid of the Goddess."

Rathe's brows rose.

"You think she'd afraid of _me_?

Once again the priestess shrugged. She moved slowly around the antechamber with the Shadow-Walker on her heels and murmured, "I wonder if she would have chosen the contemplative life if she were not forced here by her… brother? Father? What are you to the girl?"

"It doesn't matter." Rathe snapped.

The priestess turned to him with those shrewd, appraising eyes.

"Maybe not to you, but it's clear that she doesn't come here willingly."

Rathe sighed and crossed his arms.

"Are you going to take her in or should I take her somewhere else? One way or another, this girl is staying in Markarth… and if Dibella cannot find her a home I'm sure there are _other_ Gods… or Daedra… that might welcome her."

The priestess sucked in a breath.

"You'd toss her to some vile Daedric cult?"

The lie fell easily from his tongue.

"In a heartbeat if it gets her out of my way."

The priestess clenched her teeth and flicked her gaze back to the lovely young girl who was sitting in that comfortable chair, drumming her fingers on its arm. The priestess wondered how in Oblivion this lovely creature had gotten herself mixed up with this foul man. She shuddered and wondered if she really wanted to know _that_ story. She turned her gaze back to Rathe and when she did he saw her eyes were cold like steel.

"Have no fear. Dibella will welcome her with warm arms. The Goddess would sooner _buy_ the girl than leave her with a piece of filth like you."

Rathe took the verbal barb stoically and simply shrugged his shoulders.

"Coin would be nice actually." He said languidly.

The priestess curled up her lip in disgust and strode away from the Shadow-Walker. He heard some very un-holy curses fall from her lips as she went. A smirk touched his lips as he watched the priestess angrily move away, but when he turned to Fleur, all trace of good humour vanished from his face.

He moved over to her and hunkered down on one knee before the girl. She met his gaze and he could see that she was angry at having been ordered away. Once again he had to admire the fire that so obviously burned in her heart.

"The priestesses here are going to take you in. They will provide for you until you grow up. Then you may leave or join the priestesses here in their worship of Dibella."

Fleur frowned and said quietly, "I'm grown up now. I have sixteen years you know."

Rathe smiled his rare, lovely little smile.

"I have thirty four years and I don't consider myself grown up yet, girl."

Fleur snorted and a slight smile touched her lips. Rathe reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

Fleur stiffened then said quietly, "but I don't want to stay here. I don't know these people."

Rathe sighed.

"Girl, you don't know _anyone_."

She turned her ocean blue eyes on to him and said in the tiniest voice, "I know you."

The Shadow-Walker's pale eyes widened and he stared at her for a moment.

"No." He finally said, firmly and coolly. "You will stay here with the priestesses and forget you ever met me. Is that understood?"

The girl looked away angrily and clenched her jaw.

Rathe reached out and took her chin. He pulled her face around until she was staring into his eyes.

"Is that understood Fleur?" He said again.

She gritted her teeth and when she blinked, her eyes were moist.

"_Now_ you learn my name." She whispered.

Rathe couldn't supress the smile that came to his lips. He let go of her face and rose to his feet.

The girl looked up at him but made no move to get up. Rathe nodded and turned his back on her. He started toward the door when she said, "I don't even know your name."

He turned and looked at her.

"No, you don't."

The Shadow-Walker turned on his heel and strode from the temple of Dibella.


	21. Determination and a Spirited Mare

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 21

Determination and a Spirited Mare

Wind whipped through Rathe's long ponytail sending it streaming out behind him like a scarlet banner. He pushed Sicarius into a hard gallop; not so much to make good time before the light of the day faded, but more for the feel of the rushing wind in his face.

He had to admit he felt good leaving Markarth behind. Aside from Riften, he disliked Markarth perhaps more than any other city in this cold land. Something about the stone seemed claustrophobic to the Shadow-Walker.

Gradually he eased up on the reins and set Sicarius into a pleasant trot. The day was cold but pleasant enough with sunlight peeking over the mountains that surrounded him. He glanced up at the sky and though there were some dark clouds scudding along he doubted that any would drop either rain or snow today.

Rathe reined Sicarius up and felt around in his pack for an apple. He fished out a small hard fruit and took a bite, enjoying the sharp tang of the fruit on his tastebuds. He rested easily on the horse enjoying his breakfast when suddenly a murder of crows lit up into the sky behind him.

The Shadow-Walker paused mid chew and peered in the direction where the black winged fiends had been disturbed. All was silent on the path behind him but Rathe knew that crows weren't easily dislodged from a carcass when feeding. Something must have disrupted them.

He tossed the fruit over his shoulder and clicked his tongue at Sicarius.

The horse cantered forward and Rathe held the reins in a tight grip; his former relaxed stance now gone. He turned in his saddle and peered behind him but couldn't see anything. He straightened up and continued on with that sixth sense of his screaming out that something was not right.

He rounded a bend and slid from the saddle before reining Sicarius to a stop. He elegantly landed on his feet and dropped into a crouch. He moved silently and quickly to a rocky outcrop and hoisted himself up the small jutting rock. He had a good view of the way he'd just come and he crouched still and silent as he peered into the distance.

His eyes narrowed as he made out the tiny dot moving against the horizon.

He was being followed.

Rathe couldn't make out what was following him from this distance, but he knew he'd come close to a Forsworn camp on his way from Markarth. He wondered if one of their hunters had decided to try and take him down as easy prey. He frowned and clambered down from the rock. Rathe scanned the area with appraising eyes and frowned deeper.

_Not a good place for a battle. _

The path here allowed for mounted riders to gain the upper hand in battle and Rathe couldn't be sure the Forsworn following him wouldn't be mounted. There was also no decent cover for him to meld into; lessening his chances of picking them off with well-aimed arrows before being forced into close combat.

He stalked over to Sicarius and flung himself onto the horse. He nudged the horse and sent him galloping down the path, kicking moss and earth sods up behind him.

Rathe rode until the path began to descend into a tree lined valley that bordered the mountains of The Reach and Whiterun Hold. Great sweeping pines wept down over the path, shrouding the valley in shadows and dappled sunlight. The brush and wilderness beside the path was dense and thick with foliage and Rathe slowed Sicarius to a trot.

He gazed around the wooded area and nodded to himself.

_Cover and shadow. _

This was the place to make his ambush.

He rode Sicarius off the path and tethered the horse against a pine bough out of sight of the path. He patted the horse and was relieved to have a mount that understood the virtues of silence. He moved with ingrained stealth behind the crumbling rock wall that bordered the path and crept in behind a small but thick shrub.

Rathe unslung his bow and pulled a steel tipped arrow from his quiver. He rested the arrow on the bow and peered out at the path.

He was ready.

His formative years spent rearing a younger sister had taught Rathe the value of patience and it was at times like these that he was ever grateful for that lesson. He crouched in the soft earth, his muscles tensed and ready and allowed his mind to clear of all distractions except waiting for the moment to strike.

A twig snapped loudly close by and Rathe's heartbeat thrummed and sent blood surging around his body. His grip tightened on the bow and he silently drew the arrow back. Footsteps now sounded on the path, soft and hesitant but getting closer with every step.

Rathe sighted down the bow and drew in a breath – holding one's breath always allowed for the best bead on an enemy.

A figure suddenly came into view.

Rathe's fingers twitched on the bowstring.

A frown touched the Shadow-Walker's brow and he slowly lowered the bow.

The figure was not a barbaric, bloodthirsty Forsworn. It was also not a plundering bandit or righteous Vigilant of Stendarr. Nor mage, necromancer or Daedra cultist either.

The figure was cloaked and hooded and moved with caution but grace. Rathe frowned as he watched the figure sidle past.

_Thief?_ he wondered.

It crossed his mind that perhaps this was one of the Brotherhood keeping tabs on him.

Rathe scowled anew at that thought and started creeping forward.

The figure was now carefully wandering down the path, scanning the foliage and path ahead with precise bird-like movements.

Rathe paced behind the figure, his speed increasing as he neared and suddenly he lunged at the figure, taking them both crashing down to the path. Rathe wrestled with the figure – clearly a woman by the soft feminine cry that emanated from beneath her hood – until he had her pinned to the ground and was sitting heavily atop her.

The figure struggled like a wildcat and Rathe let go of one flailing arm to snatch the hood from her face.

He sucked in a breath as large blue eyes peered up at him.

"Fleur!" He shouted.

The girl looked up into his shocked face and quit struggling.

They stared at each other for a moment until Rathe finally exploded, "What in all the Hells are you _doing_ here?"

Fleur struggled again but the Shadow-Walker would not be moved.

"I could've killed you! Anyone could've killed you… or worse!"

Anger swept through the Shadow-Walker and he fought to control his temper. Those big, naive eyes, glistening with unshed tears only served to inflame him further; like the man who waves a red flag before a bull.

"What in all the Hells were you thinking girl?"

Fleur swallowed and said in a small voice, "I didn't like it there. I didn't feel safe…"

Rathe's brows rose incredulously.

"But you feel safe out here in the wilds?"

"I feel safe with _you_." She said quietly.

Rathe looked down at her and was completely unaware that his mouth had dropped open and he was staring at her with wild, angry eyes. He was totally stricken dumb by her quite admission. Rathe rocked back on the balls of his feet and stood up. He lowered a hand to the girl and helped her to stand. He dropped her hand like a hot stone as soon as she was steady on her feet.

Fleur looked up at the Shadow-Walker from beneath her long lashes and said, "Are you very angry with me?"

Rathe scowled.

"What do you think? After all the hassle I went through to find someone to take you in and you pull a stunt like this!"

Fleur lowered her gaze and poked the cobblestone road with the toe of her boot.

"Now I have to backtrack and lose a day to get you back to Markarth." Rathe grumbled.

The girl's head snapped up.

"No. I'm not going back there."

Rathe frowned.

"Damn right you are."

Fleur shook her head angrily and stepped closer to the Shadow-Walker. She pressed a long, slender finger against his armor.

"You may be big scary Dark Brotherhood man who is used to getting his way but you're not getting your way in this. I'm _not_ going back to Markarth."

Rathe glared at her and snarled, "I will take you back strapped across my horse if I need to girl."

Fleur tossed her head and turned up her nose at him.

"You can do that sure. But I'll just run again."

Rathe opened his mouth and she intercepted him.

"I _will not_ stay in Markarth."

The Shadow-Walker nearly quivered with anger. She was so Gods damned defiant! So impudent! So pig-headed, stubborn… and unafraid of him. So unlike anyone else he'd ever had to deal with…

Finally he breathed out long and hard and turned on his heel and marched away from her. He moved into the sunshine again as he composed himself; pushing his anger back down and trying to slow his raging pulse. He raised his hands to his face and massaged his temples where a throbbing was beginning to set up and play a staccato beat across his brain.

He heard soft footsteps behind him and knew the girl was there.

He imagined himself swinging around and catching her up, throwing her on the back of Sicarius and riding her back to Markarth. He imagined himself turning around and giving her a hiding for running away in the first place. He imagined himself simply jumping into Sicarius's saddle and riding hard for Dawnstar and leaving her to her own damned fate.

Instead he turned and looked into those deep blue eyes and sighed.

"You _really_ think you're better off with me than within a city with stone walls and guards and people to protect you?"

Fleur nodded once.

"_You_ protect me. From the first moment I met you you tried to protect me… from knowing about Alain's death… from Alain himself. From Muiri. From everyone."

Rathe couldn't deny this and clenched his teeth together.

"I want to be with you." She said quietly.

Rathe frowned.

"My life is not the life for you Fleur. It's dangerous. Hard. _I'm_ dangerous Fleur."

The girl slowly nodded again.

"I know. I also know that being by your side is the safest place for me to be. The only place for me to be…"

The muscle in Rathe's jaw worked as he clenched and unclenched his teeth. What could he say to that? He finally clicked his tongue in frustration and said, "regardless of what happens we need to get moving. It's a long ride to Morthal and I want to be there by sunset."

Fleur smiled.

Rathe was caught unaware as her whole face transformed when she smiled. If she was hauntingly lovely before, her smile shifted her to realms of beauty that mere mortals did not usually aspire to. She was simply stunning as she radiated innocence and loveliness.

"Come on." He said gruffly and nudged her toward the brush where Sicarius waited.

"Wait, I have a horse. She's waiting back there on the path."

"Where'd you get a horse from?"

Fleur's smiled faded.

"Markarth."

"You don't have any coin." Rathe said coolly.

Fleur's eyes slid down to the ground and she fiddled with the ties on her shawl.

"I maybe… borrowed her from the stables…"

She glanced up at Rathe and saw his jaw clench again.

"Great. Now I have a thief in my company. So much for not drawing attention to myself."

Fleur had the grace to blush and lower her eyes in embarrassment.

"There's just one problem…"

"Oh, just _one_?" Rathe asked sarcastically.

Fleur frowned.

"I don't think she likes me. She kept trying to kick me off the whole way here."

Rathe sighed again and could have slapped himself in the face with frustration.

"You picked a spirited mare. Wonderful. Look, you ride Sicarius, I'll ride the mare and with a little luck we'll make it out of The Reach by twilight."

Fleur's lips turned up into her little smile again and she followed the Shadow-Walker to where his black steed was waiting patiently.

"One more thing." She said and came to a stop.

Rathe turned to her and his eyes were glittering dangerously. The man was at the edge of his tolerance.

"What's your name?" She asked shyly.


	22. Mage Fire and Quarrels

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 22

Mage Fire and Quarrels

"Dammit!"

Rathe swore and tugged at the reins of the spirited mare to keep her on the path.

Fleur had sure chosen poorly when she'd picked the dappled grey nag to 'borrow'. He suspected from Sicarius's interest in the mare that she was probably in her season and suspected that Fleur had been able to make off with her unnoticed only because she'd been separated from the herd.

He reined up and waited until Fleur nudged Sicarius closer to him. The big black stallion obeyed the girl's tentative commands with his usual dutiful, gentle grace. Rathe yanked at the reins again and leaned over to Fleur sitting atop his own saddle on Sicarius.

"Nice job on getting this damned nag Fleur."

He'd already voiced his displeasure at the horse during their journey north but he felt it worth berating once more. Fleur simply shrugged and looked quite comfortable balanced on Sicarius's broad back.

"It'll be all I can do to get her to Morthal. Maybe we can trade her in there on something less feisty."

Fleur frowned and leaned forward in her saddle.

"Is that how you deal with all the things that cause you trouble? Trade them in… leave them behind… Rathe?"

The Shadow-Walker scowled and tugged at the reins again.

"I _try_. It doesn't always work though."

Half of Fleur's mouth turned up in a smile and she looked away from the frowning man.

He gave the reins another sharp tug and sent the horse cantering forward. Sicarius fell into step behind the mare, lowering his head to sniff the scent she gave off as they traversed the wilds of Skyrim.

Rathe slipped into his own thoughts as they rode. He considered the spirited horse beneath his thighs and thought that although she was young and feisty, she was swift and sure of foot. She also seemed sure of herself and fearless. Perhaps he could keep her at his side… if he could properly break her in. She needed discipline. A firm hand. Someone who could curb that wicked tongue of hers…

He started as he realised he'd shifted his focus to Fleur.

He shook his head and turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Dawnstar. What would he do on first arrival at the seaside town?

His thoughts were suddenly shattered as a shard of ice sliced through the air directly across his path.

The mare screamed and reared up unexpectedly. Rathe's instincts and strength kept him clinging to the nag's neck as she reared. Another ice shard screamed through the sky and narrowly missed both horse and rider. The mare thudded heavily to the ground and no sooner had her hooves touched earth again was Rathe leaping from the saddle and drawing both blades simultaneously.

He hit the ground and rolled to his feet; blood pounding in his head and aware of his nag's scream and the thud of her hooves as she raced away. The Shadow-Walker twisted to the left and dodged yet another shard of ice that whistled past.

He spun on his feet and lurched into a sprint.

A black robed figure loomed up from behind a boulder and looked at the visage of death that raced towards him with twin wicked blades drawn and glinting in the sunlight. The mage summoned another bolt of ice and flung it towards the man.

Rathe hurdled the ice shard without slowing and silently raised both blades as he neared the mage.

The mage didn't bother to erect his magic shield – he knew it was useless.

Rathe's blades swung down and tasted Dunmer blood as they bit deeply into the mage. The black robed man shuddered and choked as white hot pain lanced through his body. Both blades had sliced through shoulder muscle, sinew and bone on both sides of his body and he jerked spasmodically as the Shadow-Walker held him pinned with his blades.

A scream split the air and Rathe viciously yanked both blades free with a syrupy slurp as he spun around. The black robed mage dropped to the ground behind him as the Shadow-Walker scanned his immediate surroundings.

A second mage was unleashing gouts of fire at Sicarius.

The steed, ever capable in battle, was rearing on his hind legs to protect the girl clinging to his neck. Rathe could see the horse was getting singed by the licking fire of the mage, and he could make out the terror across Fleur's face. The girl unhooked her toes from Sicarius's stirrups and slid down his back. She landed roughly on the ground and started crawling away in terror.

The mage stepped back from the kicking horse and spied the girl scampering away. A grin touched his face and he started moving towards her.

White hot rage surged through the Shadow-Walker and his hands slipped to the set of throwing knives strapped to his chest. He slid two from their sheaths and flung them with a flick of his wrist at the same time that he raced towards the mage.

He followed up with two more throwing knives but needn't have bothered.

The first two burrowed into the soft flesh beneath the mage's jaw and as the second two knives thudded into his chest as he was already dropping to his knees. Blood bubbled from his lips, frothy and arterial and he pitched face forward into the earth with a gurgle.

The Shadow-Walker moved up beside the dying mage and looked down coldly. Fire still licked at the man's hand but as Rathe watched it hissed, spluttered and went out. The man's life also extinguished at the same moment.

Rathe was suddenly nudged by his black steed. He turned and patted Siacrius reassuringly, casting an appraising eye over the black shiny coat. The horse was signed and raw in a few places but otherwise he had fared well. Either the mage had been a novice or the horse was well back from the fire. Rathe patted the horse again in a gesture of friendship and thanks and glanced around for Fleur.

He spied the girl huddled behind an outcrop of rocks, her hands over her head and her big blue eyes peering up, wide-eyed and terror filled.

He strode over to her, sheathing his bloody blades. He'd clean and care for them later.

"Get up Fleur. They're dead."

She lowered her hands from her head and peered around at the dead bodies on the ground. She slowly rose to her feet and edged closer to the Shadow-Walker.

They wandered in silence over to one of the dead mages and looked down at his bleeding body.

Rathe squatted beside the body and yanked his throwing knives free. He wiped the little blades on the corpse's black robe smearing dark blood on the coarse material. He began patting the body roughly, tearing the robes in the process.

Fleur frowned and moved right up behind the Shadow-Walker as he searched the body.

"What are you looking for?" She whispered.

Rathe patted the body and leaned back on his heels. He sniffed and stood back up.

"No bounty. No note."

Fleur frowned as the Shadow-Walker turned towards her.

"They weren't sent by anyone. Probably just rogue mages trying for what they thought was an easy kill."

Fleur frowned deeper.

"Who did you think _would_ have sent them?"

Rathe shrugged and started heading back to Sicarius.

"I've got a few enemies Fleur. Could have been anyone. Muiri maybe? Astrid…"

"Who's Astrid?" Fleur asked as she watched the Shadow-Walker straighten and tighten Sicarius's saddle.

"Chapter leader of Skyrim's Dark Brotherhood."

Fleur froze and looked sharply at the nonchalant man.

"But… but aren't _you_ in the Dark Brotherhood?"

Rathe turned to her and sighed.

"Just because I'm… affiliated… with them don't doubt that if the need arose they would still send someone out to kill me… or you. That's just a fact of life Fleur."

She watched the Shadow-Walker turn back to his horse and tighten buckles and straps. _This world is crazy_, she thought to herself. At least in Raldbthar she'd been shielded from this madness… until her brother sold her into it.

She shook her head, not willing to think about such things. Instead she looked down at the dead mage and mumbled, "They were so fierce. And _you_ were so fierce. And I… hid behind a rock."

Rathe shrugged as he finished re-saddling the black stallion.

"What else could you do?" He muttered.

Fleur looked at him with her sea-coloured eyes.

"Exactly. What _can_ I do? How can I… fight."

Rathe snorted with sudden laughter and turned to face her. He crossed his arms over his chest and an amused smirk touched his lips.

"You want to fight?" He asked incredulously.

Fleur stiffened.

"And why not? I know there are female warriors in Tamriel."

Rathe nodded and his smirk slipped from his lips.

"Female _warriors_ yes. Not little girls."

Fleur put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"I could be a warrior if you showed me how."

Rathe gazed at her for a long moment saying nothing. Fleur began to get uncomfortable as those pale eyes bored into her. Finally he moved forward and unsheathed one of his blades smoothly.

The girl flinched as he elaborately swung the weapon and reversed it at the last moment to hand it to her hilt first. She tentatively reached out and took the blade, marvelling at the burnished steel and soft hilt. Rathe waited until she had the hilt firmly in her grasp before he let go of the blade. As expected, the girl was unprepared for the weight on the sword and it abruptly sank downward, taking her arm down with it.

Fleur wobbled and bunched her muscles to raise the blade into the air. The blade shivered in her grasp and she had to cup her free hand around her hand holding the hilt to keep the weapon up; despite it being a one handed sword.

Rathe stood nonchalantly before her and smiled inwardly as she assumed what she no doubt thought was a fearsome expression and posture.

"Strike me." He said quietly.

Fleur frowned and didn't move. She just looked at him.

Suddenly she raised the blade up and lunged at the man.

Rathe nearly had time to brew a pot of tea in the amount of time it took her to clumsily strike.

He sidestepped and watched as she pitched forward, wildly off balance. The Shadow-Walker stood aside as she struggled to keep her footing and turn back to face him. Fleur's face was blooming red as she flushed.

She spun around with the sword and sliced air as the Shadow-Walker deftly stepped backwards. Though her arms already ached she followed up with another sword slash and yet again he stepped aside of the blow.

The girl grunted and swung back one more time and Rathe decided to end this. He waited patiently as Fleur aimed the sword at him and charged, as though meaning to skewer him. Rathe batted the limp sword thrust away with the back of his hand and swept the girl into his arms.

He pinned her arms at her sides and whispered, "female warrior huh?"

Fleur made an angry snort and tried to wriggle free.

Rathe's gloved hand closed around the blade and with a twist and yank he pulled it free. He held the sword by its blade and rested the tip against her milk white throat. Fleur stiffened in his arms and he could feel her body tremble.

"Congratulations little warrior. You've just gotten yourself killed."

He released his grip on her and Fleur pushed quickly away from him; taking the scent of wild flowers with her. She spun on her heel and looked at the Shadow-Walker as he slowly sheathed the blade.

"Ok, so I'd be dead. But I'd still be dead at that mage's hands if you weren't here… sword or no sword. I _still_ need to be able to defend myself."

Rathe conceded her point inwardly but merely shrugged at her.

Fleur brightened suddenly and exclaimed, "maybe I can learn magic?"

This made the Shadow-Walker snort with laughter.

"No, no, no, no. You don't want to get mixed up with that stuff girl."

Fleur frowned sharply at him and he raised his hands defensively.

"Magic is a fickle and temperamental mistress Fleur. Not something you want to dabble in and certainly an element I don't want or need in my life. But if you're keen to study it I can drop you off at the College of- "

"No! I'm not being left anywhere again." She snapped quickly.

The Shadow-Walker gave her a look as if to say discussion closed

"Good. Now where in all the Hells did that mare get to…"

* * *

Dusk was upon the travellers as they made it to the outskirts of a small hamlet that Rathe called Morthal. Fleur was entranced with the deepening sky that displayed a breathtaking aurora borealis of purples and pinks. She didn't think in all her life she'd ever seen anything as stunning as the sky over her head this night.

Sicarius followed Rathe's mare steadily as they approached the small town, bathed in mists and shrouded in shadow. Fleur shivered and huddled down deeper in her cloak. This town made her uneasy and she subtly pressed Sicarius's flanks with her boot heels to hasten him up behind the Shadow-Walker.

Rathe guided his mare into the centre of town, listening to the clip clop of their hooves as they crossed a stone bridge over a murky stream. His free hand rested on the hilt of one of his blades; he too sensed something slightly amiss in this hamlet.

His keen eyes picked out a wooden sign carved into the likeness of an ale mug and he directed his horse towards the Inn. The sound of a lute being expertly plucked echoed from the Inn and Rathe could see a warm fire roaring within.

He dismounted and hobbled the mare, patting her fondly before tending to Sicarius. The Shadow-Walker helped the girl down from the saddle, noticing the way she moved stiffly when he set her on her feet.

_Too long in the saddle, _he thought grimly.

He briefly wondered how red and sore her behind must be then abruptly turned to his black steed. As Rathe busied himself feeding and watering the horses, Fleur stood at his side watching the dark town with interest.

A few figures hurried through the cold night on late errands and the ever dutiful town guards strolled from post to post keeping a close eye on the shadows. One turned his masked face towards her and Fleur shrank back to Rathe's side. The Shadow-Walker turned and sent a scowl the guard's way, hurrying the man along his patrol.

Rathe turned to Fleur and nudged her away from him.

"Go wait inside. I'll be right in."

Fleur shivered with cold and didn't argue. She lightly stepped up the stairs to the tavern and pushed her way inside. Warmth and delicious smells enveloped her and she realised how hungry she was; her last meal having been a light supper the previous night back at the temple of Dibella. Rathe didn't seem to mind missing meals and she wondered how often he went for days without putting food into his body.

The smell of cooking meat was nearly enough to make her dash forward but the crowd of mostly male faces up at the bar kept her waiting near the door.

Aside from her brother and Rathe, the only other male faces Fleur had ever known belonged to the bandits and thugs Alain had employed. She'd seen many large brutish men or skulking thieves hanging around Raldbthar and knew the sorts of things they liked to talk about. Terrible, nasty things. Alain had mostly kept them from disturbing her but every once and a while one of these louts would slip into her sleeping chamber in the dead of the night…

Though Alain had kept a tight rein on her virginity, Fleur had been touched, fondled, caressed and forced to pose in disgusting ways so that these _men_ could relieve themselves while watching her. Most had been caught and dealt with by her brother, swiftly and brutally, but there were times when Alain himself was responsible for her degradation. Fleur had been paraded before men in nothing more than her shoes and stood red-cheeked and tearful as she was examined, gawked at and lusted over. Those times, with Alain present and watching her like a vulture, had always been the worst for Fleur. She knew now that he had been presenting her to the very men who would 'bid' on her… like a lamb on market day.

The girl's thoughts were thus occupied when Rathe crept into the tavern and came up beside her. She flinched and gave a muffled cry as he took hold of her arm.

Rathe frowned down at her, shifting a heavy sack over his shoulder and murmured, "Fleur? You ok?"

The girl nodded and swallowed.

"Just hungry."

Rathe nodded and guided her through the tavern to reach the counter where an Innkeeper was hard at work wiping down the bar. He stepped up to the Redguard while fishing around in his pouches for coin.

"One room. Two beds."

The Redguard scooped up the coin and flicked her dark brown eyes over Rathe and Fleur.

"Only got one room left. It's a double."

Rathe's lips flattened as he pressed them together and after a moment he stiffly nodded.

"Fine. We'll want a meal too. Meat, bread, stew. And water."

The Redguard nodded and flicked her head in the direction of a room off to the side of the common area.

"Room's through there. Meal will be in about an hour."

Rathe nodded and took hold of Fleur's hand. He led her to the room and ushered her inside.

The Shadow-Walker tossed their cloaks on a dressing table and unshouldered the heavy sack he'd acquired and set it down on the large bed. Fleur stood in the middle of the room and looked at the heavy sack curiously.

Rathe looked at her as he began tugging at the knots holding the sack closed.

"I've given a lot of thought to what you said today."

Fleur's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"You're right you know. Sword or no, you'd have been killed by those mages if I hadn't been there to protect you. And despite what you may think Fleur, I cannot always be there to protect you."

Fleur frowned and started to speak but Rathe continued on.

"You _insist_ on following me around and Gods know short of blindfolding you and tying you up somewhere there's not much I can do to dissuade you - "

Fleur's lips twitched with a supressed grin and Rathe considered telling her that he _had_ actually contemplated doing just this.

"- so… I think you _do_ need to know how to protect yourself."

He tugged the mystery item free of the sack and Fleur's eyes widened at the sight of it.

It was an old, oiled, wooden crossbow.

He hefted the weapon up with expert hands and performed a rapid series of flicks and checks to ensure it was in perfect working order. He reached back into the sack and pulled out a small quiver of bolts. The Shadow-Walker loaded a bolt, cocked the crossbow and sighted down the tiller. Satisfied that the weapon was efficient and in good order he gently handed it to Fleur.

The girl took hold of the wooden contraption in hesitant hands and was surprised at how light it was.

Rathe moved up behind her and leaned down over her. He shifted her hands on the wood to position her in the proper place and pushed the stock up tight against the crook of her arm. He gently gathered up a handful of her long auburn hair and flicked it behind her shoulder so it wouldn't get tangled in the mechanism. That scent of wild flowers tickled his nose.

"See the bear head mounted up on that wall?"

Fleaur nodded and aligned her body with the ugly mounted head.

"Try to hit it." Rathe said quietly.

"How?"

"Just squeeze the trigger… gently."

Fleur raised the crossbow and peered down the length of it to sight the bear head on the wall some seven feet away. She stiffened and all her muscles tensed. Rathe's hands pressed down on her shoulders and his voice whispered in her ear.

"Relax your muscles."

Fleur's body loosened and she closed one eye to aim.

She squeezed the trigger.

The bolt whipped out of the crossbow and slammed into the bear head – shattering one of the glass eyes.

Rathe frowned and straightened up.

"Beginner's luck." He murmured.

He reached around the girl and loaded the crossbow a second time.

"Again." He whispered.

Fleur shot the crossbow for a second time and the bolt split the bear's snout.

The Shadow-Walker reached around her to load a third quarrel and this time Fleur grabbed it from his hands and inserted it gently into the stock. Rathe leaned back, impressed with how quick she was to catch on to the mechanical workings of the complex weapon.

He watched as she re-aimed and fired again.

Hit.

Again.

Hit.

The Shadow-Walker looked at the bear head with ghastly bolts piercing it and was amazed.

Not one bolt had gone awry. The girl was a born marksman.

"Of course in the real world your target won't be mounted on a wall and hold still for you." He murmured.

Fleur lowered the weapon and shot Rathe an exasperated look.

"One thing comes from living in a Dwemer ruin. You get used to rats. Big rats. And Skeevers. I never went _anywehere _in Raldbthar without a slingshot. It's amazing how proficient one becomes…"

She secretly enjoyed the surprise on his face. And though what she'd said was true, she hadn't actually killed _that _many rats in Raldbthar. But raining pebbles down on Alain's goons had sure been fun…

She fingered the weapon and picked up the quiver of bolts.

"So this is for me?"

Rathe nodded and plucked a leather strap from the sack.

"This hooks around you… like this. And the crossbow hangs at your back. You slip it off your shoulder when you need to use it."

He looked into her eyes and took hold of her shoulders.

"Fleur, if someone is coming at you and you unhook this weapon… you shoot to kill, understand me?"

The girl's eyes were wide and she nodded.

Rathe frowned and tightened his grip on her shoulders.

"I mean it. A wounded man with a bolt in his belly can still gut you. You shoot someone with this you'd better damn well kill him."

Fleur shivered despite the warmth of the Inn. His tone was so cold… so unfeeling. She was suddenly forcibly reminded that this was the man that drew a sharp edged weapon across her brother's throat. She stepped backwards and nodded.

"Shoot to kill. I understand."

Rathe continued looking at her for a few more moments and finally turned away.

"One more thing… if you ever shoot one of those quarrels at me… you better hope it kills me."

Fleur swallowed as the blood drained from her face.

He was so matter-of-fact about it. So… so inhuman.

He walked out into the tavern to search out their meal while she stayed behind and sat heavily on the bed. She felt the overwhelming urge to cry and for once, did not stop the flood of tears that slid down her face.

She cried herself to sleep on the bed and was never aware that the Shadow-Walker spent his night standing watch over her slumbering form; never removing his pale gaze from her small tossing figure.


	23. Ice and Blood

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 23

Ice and Blood

_Loredas, 27__th__ of Heart Fire – _

_I can smell him. The Albino. I'm on his trail… I know it. I feel it in my bones. Dawnstar will be his undoing. Dawnstar is where I will find my answers. Dawnstar which is only a few days away…_

If Rathe noticed Fleur's puffy eyes as they prepared their horses for the journey north he didn't say anything to the girl. Neither did he mention the more practical hairstyle she'd fixed for herself this morning. One day of wind whipping her hair in her face had been enough for Fleur. She'd pulled back her thick locks and tied it with a scrap of material before leaving the bed chamber this morning. The Shadow-Walker had fixed his pale eyes on her as she'd approached and had merely nodded.

She stood quiet and withdrawn as he stuffed food and supplies into Sicarius's saddlebags.

Rathe moved silently to her side and she grudgingly accepted his help to mount the stallion. Sicarius stood stock still and nickered at the lovely girl on his back.

Rathe hoisted himself into the saddle of the pretty dappled mare and she pranced about excitedly, eager to be off. He tugged on the reins and the mare lurched into a trot. Fleur and Sicarius followed the mare, the big stallion's hooves sliding on the slick stone path as they went.

The girl was not at all sad to see Morthal fall behind them as they went. She'd had dark dreams and a bitter sleep beneath the tavern's creaking roof. She'd woken to find the Shadow-Walker quietly breaking his fast at the table in their shared room. Fleur had spent a few moments watching the man as he chewed bread and cheese. She'd thought him unaware that she was watching until he'd gruffly ordered her to break her own fast before they hit the road again.

Fleur watched him again now; or rather she watched his broad leather clad back as he jounced up and down on the mare. His long ponytail swished down the middle of his back as he rode and she wondered if it ever got tangled up in his bowstring.

_Must not otherwise he'd just cut it off_, she thought to herself. _Discard it like he discards everything else that's an inconvenience._

She was still stinging from the comment he'd made the previous night and was in glum spirits as Sicarius clipped along.

_One more thing… if you ever shoot one of those quarrels at me… you better hope it kills me._

How could he suggest such a thing? That she'd deliberately try to maim or kill him? That if she did _he_ would come after her? Fleur didn't even know what she _did_ feel about him yet. And if that crossbow on her back was in her hands with a bolt loaded and he were standing before her vulnerable, would she pull the trigger? Could she?

The girl didn't know.

She didn't know anything anymore. Since that day awaking in her bed in Raldbthar to see that coldly handsome face peering down at her, nothing seemed to make any sense.

A voice in her head reminded her that things hadn't made a lot of sense _before_ Rathe had come along either. She shrugged away such thoughts and focused on her riding instead.

Rathe heard the steady thud of Sicarius's hooves behind him and he knew the girl was keeping up. Or rather his steed was. He doubted whether Fleur truly knew how to control the big stallion.

The Shadow-Walker was content to ride single file in silence, enjoying the peace and space his mind had to think.

_What am I to do with this girl?_

He knew deep down that if he left her somewhere she'd turn up a day or two behind him like some determined homing pigeon. He supposed he could always follow through with his threat and blindfold and bind her somewhere but he imagined her simply setting out into the wilds anyway, stubbornly trying to find him. Then, alone and without any skill in defending herself she truly would be easy prey... easy pickings... an easy kill or worse.

So he supposed he was stuck with her until he came up with a better solution.

He turned and glanced over his shoulder at her.

Sunlight touched her auburn hair and turned it the colour of rose gold and her skin was so pale in the light it almost seemed translucent.

Truly she was a stunning creature.

The Shadow-Walker straightened up in his saddle and nodded inwardly.

She can't be left alone; Gods what people would do to her...

The marshes around Morthal gradually slipped away as they travelled to higher ground and soon the ever present snow of Skyim began to blanket the ground.

Sicarius and the mare (which Fleur had taken to calling Princess) soon had a tough time slogging through snow banks as Rathe steered them away from the path. He knew from long study of his map that a more direct route through the wilds would have them at Dawnstar by nightfall and he fully intended to have this business with the Dawnstar pirates attended to by the time the sun sank.

The horses moved quietly through the cold forested region, passing a still smoking ruin of a shack. Rathe glanced at the place curiously and considered what it could have been that so laid waste to an entire farm house.

Dragon fire.

Fleur tugged on Sicarius's reins and called out to the Shadow-Walker.

"Should we check to see if anyone is still alive in there?"

Rathe looked down at the charred smouldering body half hanging out of the blackened door frame.

He clicked his tongue at Princess.

"There's no one alive Fleur."

He continued on past the house and heard Sicarius plough through the snow a few seconds later.

They continued on for hours with Rathe only calling a halt to pass the girl a chunk of hard bread and a wedge of harder cheese. He remained in his saddle as he chewed and Fleur followed his example though she would have relished the chance to have climbed free of the saddle. Her thighs were chafed and she ached from the unaccustomed horse riding but when Rathe mildly inquired how she was faring she had brushed him off with a brusque, 'I'm fine."

Warm sun beaded down overhead and soon Fleur was nodding in the saddle as they broke free of the forest. The sudden change in light roused her and she blinked in stunned awe at the vista before her.

Rathe reined up and Fleur allowed Sicarius to plod up next to the Shadow-Walker.

"It's... it's beautiful." She said in a breathless voice.

Rathe looked out over the vista and silently agreed with her.

The ice plains of the Pale were laid out in dazzling glory before the two, fading into the distance into the cold blue of the Sea of Ghosts. Glaciers of ice the size of mountains jutted up from the ocean and bergs as pure white as moon sugar floated serenely in the freezing sea. Cliffs and mountain draped in mist and snow peeked up from the horizon, glistening blindingly in the sunlight.

"Dawnstar lies but half a day's journey that way."

He pointed across the windswept ice plains and urged Princess into a trot. Sicarius followed without being prompted and Fleur fell into awed silence as they stepped out onto the frozen tundra of Skyrim's Northern-most province.

Off in the distance, down near the dark shore where the crystalline waters lapped and broke on the stony beach, Fleur could make out odd greyish shapes. She squinted and gasped as the misshapen blobs appeared to move.

"Rathe! Are those people down there?"

The Shadow-Walker turned in his saddle and followed the direction of her gaze. He smiled as his eyes passed over the big lumbering creatures.

"Horkers." He answered.

"The sloths of the sea. Harmless enough unless you get too close to them while they have young around. Then they can get nasty."

Fleur couldn't take her eyes off the large flapping creatures; there was something oddly graceful about them.

Rathe smiled again at her childlike wonder at such a simple creature of nature and he leaned over in his saddle and whispered, "wait till we come across a Snow Bear."

The girl looked at him, her eyes wide.

"A Snow bear... I don't know if I'd like to come across one of those."

Rathe was about to tell her about their teeth (as long as a man's leg) when he heard the unmistakable hiss of an arrow tearing through the sky. Reacting purely on instinct he flung himself forward, nearly tipping from the saddle as arrow passed within a hand span of his head.

Rathe was all movement and action now.

He leaped from his dappled mare and slapped her hard on the flank to send her racing away. At the same time he screamed for Fleur to unhook her feet from the stirrups of Sicarius's saddle. Fleur barely had time to register the command before he yanked her free of the saddle.

And not a moment too soon.

An arrow slammed into Sicarius's saddle where but a moment ago, Fleur's leg had dangled. The arrow head pierced the leather saddle and bit into horse flesh beneath. Sicarius screamed and reared. Rathe grabbed a handful of Fleur's cloak and yanked her back from the kicking horse hooves.

As Sicarius thudded to the ground and started to bolt away, another arrow tore through the sky, harmlessly burrowing into snow a few feet from the Shadow-Walker. Rathe shoved Fleur roughly off her feet and she landed uneasily in the snow with an audible grunt.

The Shadow-Walker spun and raced down the decline, his feet sliding across the snow to make one footstep cover nearly six feet of distance. He whipped both blades from their sheathes as he ran, his scarlet ponytail streaming out behind him and the grim look of death on his face.

He marked the figure with a bow leaning out from behind a boulder and registered the look of stunned shock on the man's face. The hunched figure stood as he tried to nock another arrow but Rathe was on him too quickly.

A ragged primal scream issued from the Shadow-Walker's throat as he brought both blades fiercely slashing down. The man was very nearly cut in two. Bright scarlet blood splashed over the pristine white tundra in shocking contrast.

A hoarse cry split the air and Rathe spun as two more figures came slogging through the deep snow towards him. Their dress was crude; furs and pieces of mismatched armor, and they clutched poor quality steel weapons.

_Bandits_.

As he fell into his familiar fighting stance it crossed his mind that Skyrim seemed to be home to an inordinate amount of bandits, cutthroats, thugs and rogue mages. Not to mention the varied wild animals that liked to attack without provocation.

_What a world._

The two were clever enough to size up their opponent instead of launching in to attack him, and they slowed considerably as they observed his posture, high quality blades and look of flint in his eyes. Rathe could see cunning in the eyes of the woman wrapped up in thick furs and he wasn't at all surprised when she nudged her companion and urged him to circle around the Shadow-Walker.

_Coming from both sides. Clever._

The woman suddenly lunged in with her poacher's axe and Rathe parried easily and stepped backwards. The man now creeping up behind him lashed out with his short sword. Rathe sidestepped easily and spun. He'd hoped to catch his male opponent off balance and gain footing behind both male and female but the bandits were both better fighters than he'd expected and remained separated on both sides of him.

The Shadow-Walker frowned and feinted left while lunging right.

His move took the male by surprise and the man barely got his sword up in time to parry Rathe's sword thrust. Rathe twirled away from an axe strike from the female and followed up his attack on the male bandit with a blinding roundhouse slash. His blade tore through the male's furs and flesh but instead of coming out cleanly, the blade snagged on a strap hanging across the man's broad chest.

_Studded leather. Shit._

The man was dying on his feet as Rathe's blade was still entwined in his armor and the Shadow-Walker had no choice but to relinquish the hilt of one of his precious blades and fling himself sideways as the female smashed down with her axe.

Her axe missed the Shadow-Walker by inches, cleaving instead the jerking and dying body of her bandit friend and she screamed in rage and frustration. She spun and met Rathe's single sword thrust with a ferocity he wasn't expecting. Her poacher's axe had a longer reach than his single blade and was at least four times heavier and he knew the remainder of this battle must be quick and hard fought.

Rathe was about to feint again and try to catch the woman off guard when she suddenly stumbled, shrieked and let the axe slip from her fingers.

The Shadow-Walker frowned and stood hesitantly with his single blade in hand trying to calculate if this was a ruse when she suddenly stumbled forward again and a choking river of dark blood gushed from her mouth. As she stumbled forward for a third time, Rathe finally heard the noise he should have detected earlier.

The unmistakably clunk and wind of a crossbow.

Rathe raised his gaze from the staggering bandit to the frozen tundra behind her and he looked long and hard at the stoic figure with flaming hair clutching a loaded crossbow in her hands.

The bandit finally slumped to her knees and then slowly pitched face first into the pink snow. Rathe could see three crossbow quarrels poking up from her body. One was buried deep in her back. The second protruded from the back of her neck and the third… the third was lodged in her shoulder blade. Had the quarrel struck one inch higher it would have missed the bandit entirely… and hit the Shadow-Walker.

He was still looking down at the dead thug whose blood was steaming into the snow as Fleur quietly walked across to him. He glanced up and noticed she was still holding the loaded crossbow… and her finger was still on the trigger. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the weapon and her eyes were locked onto the dead body of the bandit.

Rathe very slowly eased forward towards the girl; still dead centre in the firing line of the crossbow.

"Fleur, lower the crossbow."

He spoke in a low, commanding tone and continued moving towards her.

The girl finally blinked and looked down at the weapon in her hand. She forcibly stretched her finger, releasing the trigger that was a hair away from activating the firing mechanism. Rathe stepped directly in front of her and gently plucked the crossbow from her hands. He deftly attached it to the strap on her back as he looked into those sea-blue eyes of hers.

"Are you alright?"

The girl neither nodded nor flinched. She simply spoke in a small voice.

"I killed her."

Rathe nodded and pressed his lips together. Though it had been many, many years since his own first kill, Rathe never forgot that strange otherworldly feeling that had swept over him. Guilt and horror at having snuffed out a life. Power at having been responsible for sending a soul to Oblivion… and grief directed inwardly, at his own innocence that had also been cut down that day. The Shadow-Walker thought about his younger self standing over that dead body that he'd robbed of life. He bent and retrieved the blade that was stuck in the dead bandit's armor and looked at Fleur over his shoulder.

"It helps if you vomit." He said drily.

Fleur looked up at him with an expression of outrage across her features and she was about to curse his inhumane, coldness. A river of bile surged up her throat and she bent over and retched into the snow. Rathe watched quietly as the girl threw up the contents of her stomach.

When she finally straightened he cocked an eyebrow and murmured, "better?"

Fleur frowned grimly and shook her head. She staggered and felt light headed and started to sink to her knees. The next thing she knew the Shadow-Walker had scooped her up in his strong arms and was walking her away from the gristly scene of death. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest as he walked, her mind whirling and spinning with the enormity of what she'd done.

She'd taken a life.

She'd taken a life – not in self-defence as may have been excusable.

She'd taken a life _for him._

"This must be their camp." Rathe's voice penetrated through the fog in her mind and she turned her head to gaze around.

They had indeed come upon an abandoned camp. A haunch of meat was spitted over a smouldering campfire and sleeping rolls were laid out on hard packed, ice covered earth. The camp was exposed to the weather and must surely have only been a temporary resting place for the bandits.

Rathe wandered across to the campfire and gingerly set Fleur down. He grabbed a thin charred piece of kindling and poked the dying campfire to bring life back to the embers. As he stirred the ashes Fleur looked around blankly.

This was where the woman she'd killed had last slept.

That bed roll there might have been hers.

That cup might have been what she drank out of.

Fleur's knees suddenly went weak and she collapsed onto one of the bed rolls. Rathe turned and looked at the girl. He fished around in his pack and brought out a skin of water.

The Shadow-Walker moved over to Fleur and hunkered down on the bed roll next to her, close enough that their arms brushed against one another. He handed her the water skin which she took blindly. When she made no move to drink Rathe commanded her in his authoritative tone.

"Drink."

The girl obeyed and found the cool, crisp water that sluiced down her throat brought with it calming clarity.

"I killed her." She said again. Her voice this time was not full of recrimination or horror. She was simply saying the phrase to get it out of her head. Tasting the words.

Rathe nodded and took the water skin from her cold fingers.

"Yes you did. But you know if you hadn't and she'd bested me that you'd be the one lying dead now Fleur... and likely robbed, raped and beaten first."

The girl nodded nearly instantly.

"Oh I know that. I'm not totally unaware of the things bandits do to unwary travellers. I lived with a pack for years Rathe."

The Shadow-Walker had to smile at the note of reproach in her tone.

"It's just... this is your life isn't it. Killing."

Rathe shrugged and considered her statement.

"Sometimes. Mostly."

Fleur looked up at him.

"Why?"

Rathe was floored. No one in his thirty four years had ever asked him why. Why did he kill? Why did he roam endlessly, ceaselessly throughout different lands of Tamriel. Why?

He drew a breath and thought of why.

Regan's face swam before his eyes.

"I'm looking for someone."

Fleur frowned.

"That's why you kill people. You're looking for someone."

Rathe had to admit it did sound absurd when she put it that way. He felt her blue eyes on him demanding an answer and he shifted uncomfortably.

"My path was laid out before me at a young age Fleur. I was given no choice but to walk the path laid before me by a man whose actions irrevocably changed my life... and sealed his own doom."

Silence fell between them for a moment.

"So this man... this is the person you're looking for."

Again Regan's face flashed before Rathe's eyes.

"Yes. This man... killed my father and I'm hunting him for vengeance. That's why I kill people. To get one step closer to him."

He didn't add _happy now?_ But it was implied.

If anything, Fleur was far from happy with this answer.

"Seems a terrible way to spend your life. Living only for the man who so wronged you. It's like you've let him win."

Rathe's eyes flashed and his tone was grim when he spoke.

"What?"

Fleur met his cold gaze and though she trembled she did not look down.

"To spend your whole life just to find someone and kill him... seems like a waste of a life."

Rathe's fists clenched and his teeth ground together.

"And you with your sixteen years know all about life."

Fleur flushed and glanced away.

"All I know is that I've been wronged. First by Alain... then by the man who murdered Alain. But how bitter and twisted would I be if I devote my life to vengeance against him?"

She spoke quietly and Rathe stiffened. Sometimes he forgot that she lived every day with the knowledge that he - Rathe - had cut her brother down in cold blood. Despite the fact that the bastard had deserved it... he _had_ been her brother. Her blood. Her kin...

Like Regan...

He thought of telling her that there was more to his life than mere vengeance. He thought of telling her about Regan.

He kept quiet.

"I didn't _ask_ you to follow me, Fleur. Quite the opposite. My life is this. If it doesn't suit I'll be happy to leave you in Dawnstar. I'll even give you a bag of gold to get you started on a new life… it's the least I can do."

She frowned.

"But… know that I go to Dawnstar to get one step closer to this man… the Albino… and when I finally catch him… I _will_ kill him… slowly."

Fleur shuddered at the ice in his tone.

"What then?" She whispered.

Rathe saw Regan's glorious red curls cascading down from her crown, partially covering her stunning green eyes.

"Who knows."

The two sat on the bed roll in silence as the sun moved across the azure blue sky. Neither spoke.

What more could be said?


	24. Pirates and Plots

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 24

Pirates and Plots

_Loredas, 27__th__ of Heart Fire – _

_She's barely spoken to me since the bandit camp. Matters arising since we hit Dawnstar haven't helped. I feel those intense blue eyes on me even as I write this and I have to bite my tongue to keep from snapping at her. She's angry with me. Not for killing her brother and disrupting her life… but for the way I live my life! She doesn't approve of my thirst for vengeance. Maybe if I told her it's not all about vengeance… maybe if I told her about Regan… no. Fire she has, sure… but I'll not douse that fire with such a grim tale. That's my burden alone to bear._

The Skyrim sun was shifting to that mid-point in the sky where soon shadows would lengthen beneath it and the cold bite of night would begin to creep across the land. There was still plenty of day left to attend to business however, and Rathe fully intended to use the day exactly for business as he and Fleur cantered into the seaside town.

Dawnstar.

_What a beautiful name for a beautiful town._

The town had the beauty of Riften without the slimy underbelly and the stunning vistas of Markarth without the oppressive stone. It might have been much less impressive without the Sea of Ghosts lapping at the harbour, but there was some undefinable character to the town that leant it beauty and warmth – despite the frigid temperature.

Rathe trudged in the lead, having handed Sicarius and Princess over to a local farmhand for the night. He'd paid a fortune to have the gummy arrow wound to Sicarius's middle tended to; it was messy and painful but certainly not life threatening to his proud steed. He felt Fleur's eyes on him as he walked into the town and had to stop himself turning around and glaring at her.

Instead, he kept scanning the surrounds for the local tavern. Bustling people shouldered past Rathe and Fleur as they went about their daily business; hunters with snow fox pelts over their shoulders, fisherman laden with their latest catch, farm girls with baskets full of rich, red snowberries.

Rathe noticed a long wooden building with a thatched roof peeking out from beneath a blanket of snow. Out the front beneath the overhanging porch, two men braved the cool temperature to smoke from wooden pipes and clutch tankards of mead. The sign hanging from a rotting wooden beam declared the building to be the Windpeak Inn.

Rathe paused out the front of the Inn and waited for Fleur to come up behind him. He caught the eye of one of the lolling men out the front of the Inn and frowned at him. The man hastily turned his gaze away from the pretty young girl and found a conversation to begin with his friend.

Rathe leaned down to Fleur as she looked up at the building.

"Stay close in there. If pirates come here to drink this won't be the safest place in Skyrim."

Fleur nodded solemnly and shrugged one shoulder to readjust the crossbow strapped to her back. Rathe wondered if it was too heavy for her… or if she was simply reassuring herself that it was still there.

The Shadow-Walker swiftly mounted the steps to the Windpeak Inn and pushed inside.

The Inn resembled any other typical tavern in Skyrim though was perhaps in poorer repair than most. Spilled ale and food scraps littered the floor and three mongrel dogs scrapped with one another over a large hunk of discarded roast goat. There was no bard plying the patrons with sweet music, but a loud mouth was reciting a bawdy sea chant at the top of his lungs to a pack of guffawing sailors. The room was smoky, hazy and stank of powerful liquor, unwashed bodies and piss.

Rathe felt Fleur press up against him and he sensed her unease.

_Shouldn't have brought her in here._

There was quite a press of bodies in the tavern making it difficult to focus on any one person but Rathe's attention was suddenly caught by a particularly loud sea-dog as a barmaid set a platter of food and drink before him.

"Ye call that a meal? What a stingy, scum-swilling, piddling amount of meat girl!"

He grabbed the barmaid around her waist and pulled her roughly against him. One hand groped her backside and his ugly face leered in a grin.

"Now _there's_ a good haunch o' meat a man can sink his teeth inter!"

The barmaid shrieked and cried, "You beasts are the worst!"

"Come now, dearie, surely we aren't all that bad."

His hand was fumbling beneath her long skirt as she struggled.

"Just… leave me alone! I've brought your mead, now drink it and shut your filthy mouths."

The pirate grinned wickedly and leaned into the girl.

"Oh, we've got other things in mind for our mouths sweetie."

The group of men surrounding this letch burst into loud laughter at this as the barmaid struggled to free herself of the man's pawing hands. One of these men drained his mug and as he eyeballed the empty vessel, shouted loudly; "Aw, let her be ye scurvy dog! I want more fucking mead!"

The half blind pirate abruptly released the barmaid with a little shove that sent her toppling away from him and falling against the harassed Innkeeper. The Innkeeper spun to catch the barmaid whose face was aflame with embarrassment. He patted her awkwardly on the arm and sent her scurrying off to the basement to bring up another barrel of mead.

The Innkeeper shot a dark look at the laughing sea salts before clumping down the end to his bar.

Rathe watched the entire incident without moving. He flicked a glance at Fleur who was standing behind him in his shadow.

"Stick close."

The Shadow-Walker made his way down the end of the bar and headed to the grumpy and sweating Innkeeper. He passed a throng of people muttering about the behaviour of the gang of sea salts and guessed they must be the 'regulars' of the Windpeak Inn.

The Innkeeper glanced at Rathe then looked back down at the tankards he was rapidly filling with mead.

"What."

Rathe was slightly taken aback at the clipped response from the man and he suspected the Innkeeper took Rathe for one of the no good sea pirates as well. The Shadow-Walker knew coin wouldn't impress the Innkeeper; pirates may have been uncouth and foul but they paid well. Instead Rathe reached behind him and took Fleur's arm. He pulled her into the light beside him and watched as the Innkeeper glanced up again.

This time the Innkeeper's narrow eyes widened at the sight of the beautiful, gently bred girl standing straight and willowy in her soft leather and cloth outfit. Fleur played her part beautifully and delivered one of her breathtaking smiles to the harangued man at the exact right moment.

"Beg pardon Missus. I didn't see thee there."

Rathe smiled inwardly as the man's entire demeanour changed. It seemed his waspish greeting was reserved for pirates and thugs only; lovely young nobility received a smile and open hospitality.

Fleur glanced up at Rathe as if wondering whether she should continue this discourse and after an imperceptible nod from the Shadow-Walker she continued.

"My… bodyguard… and I have travelled a long distance and require lodgings and food for the night."

Rathe's lips twitched at her suggestion the he was her bodyguard but he kept silent and watched to see where she would take this exchange.

The Innkeeper was all eyes for her and didn't even glance at the stoic man at her side. He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron and fawned over her request, humbly mentioning the cost of renting a room and procuring stew and wine to sup upon.

Fleur pointedly looked around the tavern, her gaze lingering on the noisy pirates chugging their drinks.

"I must admit that when I asked around town I was told that the Windpeak Inn was an establishment of… class."

The Innkeeper flushed and wrung his rag in his hands as he shook his head apologetically.

"Oh Missus I do so humbly apologize. This here _is_ an establishment of good breeding and class… or at least it _was_. But of late we've been… plagued with those Oblivion damned, stinking Blood Horkers you see yonder."

Fleur glanced at the group of unwashed men again and the distaste on her face was plain to see.

"Blood Horkers? What a Gods awful name!"

The Innkeeper nodded, eager to share his woes with someone.

"A bad bunch Missus to be sure. You just stay well away from them… especially that one there with the missing eye. Calls hisself Stig Salt Plank and he's the worst of them by a farmer's mile. Oh the things he'd do to a young thing like yourself."

Fleur shuddered and Rathe didn't think it was faked.

She nodded to the Innkeeper and turned away from the bar. She tapped Rathe's chest and indicated that he should follow her as she made her way to a quiet table pressed against one wall wreathed in shadows. The two carefully sat down at the table and Rathe leaned in close to the girl.

"Well done. I'm impressed."

Fleur frowned at him and whispered back, "Not _everything_ has to be solved with violence and intimidation."

Rathe smiled despite himself. Not a sardonic, dark smile but a genuine smile that lit his eyes with warmth.

It didn't last long however.

He turned towards the group of cutthroats and his eyes became all ice and steel again.

"Stig Salt Plank. Sounds like a man who needs a talking to."

He turned back to Fleur and eyed the lovely girl.

"_I'll_ handle this one. You stay here. Hang back in the shadows and whatever happens do _not_ get involved."

Fleur knew better than to argue with him and her expression was now solemn. The Innkeeper approached their table and carefully set down a platter of food and two tall goblets of wine. He gave Fleur a friendly smile, ignored Rathe and backed away quietly.

Fleur reached out for the wine goblet and Rathe slapped his hand down on top of the goblet. She looked up into his scowling face.

"No wine. If you're thirsty ask for water."

Fleur frowned but nodded. He had _that_ look and she decided not to question him on this.

Rathe stared at her for a moment before pushing himself up from the table and adjusting the sword belt at his hips. When he wandered away there was a distinct swagger and bravado to his steps that was not common to the Shadow-Walker.

He _wanted_ to be noticed.

And so he was.

Stig and his fellow pirates were involved in a drinking contest but their wits were not yet dulled enough not to notice the intimidating man sauntering towards them. Stig frowned as Rathe approached and folded his arms across his chest.

"What haff we here lads? Looks like one of them Elven flowers he does."

His cohort turned to watch Rathe and hands dipped to knife belts and poorly concealed weapons. One, drunker than his fellows, stood and stepped close to Rathe. He breathed onto the Shadow-Walker and Rathe was overcome with the fumes from his breath.

"He cain't be no scurvy elf… he done got normal ears!"

Rathe's eyes glittered and his fingers clenched but he made no move to push the man away.

Stig Salt Plank watched interestedly and finally clambered to his own feet. He dropped a heavy hand on his mate and shoved him away, sending the man sprawling into a table.

"So… yer no elf. Yet yer ain't quite human are ye?"

A genuine look of surprise crossed Rathe's face and he couldn't supress his question.

"What makes you say that?"

Stig leaned in and eyeballed Rathe.

"Them eyes lad. They're… hollow."

He suddenly drew back and frowned.

"You one of them vamps?"

Rathe shook his head and his lisp twitched.

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm plain human. Plain human looking for work…"

Stig continued frowning at the man and finally shrugged and turned his back on Rathe. His voice came over his shoulder and was dismissive.

"So? Go speak to the Innkeeper. He prolly needs a new wench to serve the drinks!"

Huge guffaws of laughter issued from the pirates and they set to another round of heavy drinking while Rathe stood silently behind Stig watching with those pale eyes. One by one the pirates noticed his grim visage and ceased their merriment until finally Stig realised he was laughing alone. He turned slowly and looked at Rathe.

His grin slipped.

"I'm serious. I'm looking for work and I hear the Blood Horkers are the best."

Stig's face abruptly altered. The mocking, lewd grin was gone. The sparkle in his one good eye vanished. He became… mean.

"Now how'd a flower like you come to hear o' the Blood Horkers?"

Rathe shrugged nonchalantly.

"Word gets around. Though I'm beginning to wonder at the wisdom of the word… you don't look like much to me."

Chairs scraped back as men rose to their feet behind Stig. No-one was laughing now.

Rathe faced down seven armed and angry pirates coolly.

"Yer better be careful what that mouth o' yers says lubber."

Stig's voice was low and dangerous.

"Yer heard we were the best because guess what, we _are_ the best. There's no ships on the Sea o' Ghosts that match our fleet and no Captains as fearsome as Stig Salt Plank. Nothing can touch us on the land and no one _dares_ touch us on the sea. We've got the best shipping routes, the most dangerous mates ever found in Tamriel… and a secret weapon."

Rathe's ears pricked up at the mention of this secret weapon.

"Secret weapon?"

Stig chuckled nastily and glared at Rathe.

"Aye. Secret weapon."

"And what's that?" Rathe asked.

Stig leaned in closer to the Shadow-Walker so that their faces were mere inches apart.

"Well, t'wouldn't be a good secret if I went round blabbing' it to lubbers now would it?"

Rathe smiled at Stig, sending the pirate hastily pulling back.

"How about if I were to join the Blood Horkers?"

Once more the pirates burst into gales of laughter lead by Stig. The patrons in the tavern turned and threw dark looks at the group so noisily shattering the atmosphere in the tavern. Rathe wondered if Fleur was watching and he suspected he could feel her eyes on his back. Stig, doubled over with laughter, wiped tears from his eyes. He finally straightened up and the laughter was gone from his face. His men ceased chuckling when they saw his face.

"Now why would a lubber and a flower like you want to join the Blood Horkers?"

Rathe shrugged again and gazed casually around the tavern.

"I'm interested in plunder. I'm a merc… and the work's pretty thin around Dawnstar."

Stig looked Rathe up and down again, this time really observing the man. Worn armor. Well cared for blades. An oiled bow, faded from long use. He certainly _looked_ like a mercenary. That might explain the cold eyes. But there was something else… something that didn't sit right with Stig. Mercenaries were commonly known as the pirates of the land. Both groups were interested in two things; coin and carnage. Not necessarily in that order.

While this man certainly looked as though he'd seen some carnage in his day, he wore no trappings of wealth nor displayed any interest in coin. He wore a few silver rings in his ears and a curious spike through his brow but none of these were gold or studded with gemstones. He wore one ring on his finger but Stig had seen enough enchanted rings in his time to know this was worn for some magical effect; not to denote wealth.

Stig himself wore golden, gaudy rings on every finger and his chest was covered with golden chains and studded amulets. His clothes were fine and expensive; plundered from the wealthiest merchant ships and personally stripped from wealthy merchants. His eyes lit up lustily when he looked at gold, he salivated when he looked at gems and his manhood stirred when he saw piles of glittering, gold coin. Stig did not think this cold man before him would be so moved by all that glittered…

"Merc huh? Naw…"

Rathe's carefully neutral face finally dipped into a scowl and his voice when he spoke had slipped three octaves lower.

"You really want to tell me everything you can about the Blood Horkers. Now."

Stig's hand bunched into fists and his mates around his pressed close.

"You really want ter walk away. Now."

Rathe took a step closer so that he was nearly touching chests with Stig.

"Make me."

Stig's lips twisted into a leer and he licked his lips until they were wet and glistening.

"Love to mate."


	25. Broken Planks and Clarity

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 25

Broken Planks and Clarity

Stig pulled his elbow back and threw a punch at the man's face putting everything he had behind it. Rathe sidestepped the blow easily and watched as Stig's fist slammed into the face of one of his fellow pirates.

As the man's face crunched sickeningly and he fell backwards, Rathe dove in and jabbed Stig Salt Plank in the stomach with three successive, hard punches. Stig groaned and staggered back as Rathe stalked him.

Stig swung a round cuff which Rathe dodged and grunted as Rathe slammed his fist into his kidney. Stig staggered back again as two of his pirates grabbed Rathe's arms. The Shadow-Walker went slack and feinted forward throwing the two off balance. He yanked one arm free and buried his elbow in the thug's nose, shattering bone and cartilage.

As other pirates swarmed in to hold the Shadow-Walker Stig called out sharp and gruff.

"No! The flower's mine!"

The hulkish men backed away as Rathe dropped into a fighting stance. Stig brought his fists up ready and the two circled one another to the cat calls of the sea salts. Rathe noticed out of the corner of his eye that the regular patrons were clustered around eagerly calling out to him. They obviously wanted him to take a pound of flesh for them too. He didn't spy Fleur in the crowd but couldn't pause to look for her as Stig suddenly lunged forward.

Rathe twisted and took the blow on his arm. He took advantage of being so close to the man that he unleashed a rapid series of punches into Stig's face.

Jab.

Split lip.

Jab.

Cracked cheekbone.

Jab.

Black eye.

Stig fell back but Rathe kept on; raining punch after punch down on the pirate. Stig slipped on the ale sodden floor and went down on one knee. Rathe drew back, still dancing lightly. Stig snorted loudly and coughed up a big glob of bloody phlegm that he spat on the floor. He staggered to his feet, wobbling and raising his swaying fists before his face.

Rathe started forward again and Stig suddenly dropped his arms and spun on his heel. He pushed through his band of men and dashed towards the back of the Inn. Rathe lowered his fists slightly as he watched the retreating pirate. His men were all frowns and scowls as they watched Stig race to the bar.

"Stig?" One called.

A murmur rippled through the crowd as they watched the pirate reach behind the counter and then a ragged cheer erupted from the pirates as Stig hefted up a massive two handed, steel war hammer. Rathe's eyes narrowed as the one eyed pirate charged towards him through the parting crowd; a scream on his lips and the war hammer raised in the air.

The gap narrowed as the pirate crossed the distance to Rathe rapidly. His scream was dying as he neared. The war hammer whooshed down.

Rathe dove beneath the steel weapon and buried his fist into Stig's chest. The pirate screamed as two of his ribs shattered and one shard sliced through his left lung sac.

Stig coughed and blood spurted from his mouth as Rathe drove his fist hard up beneath the man's chin. Stig's head rocked back violently.

Rathe's strong arms encircled the pirate and he heaved the man up over his should and slammed him hard into onto the floor.

Stig's spine gave an audible snap and another spurt of blood sprayed from his lips as he lolled on the floor of the Windpeak Inn.

The room descended into silence.

Rathe's heart was still pounding in his chest as he stood over the inert form of Stig Salt Plank.

Very slowly he raised his gaze and looked into the eyes of each and every pirate swarming around with slack jaws and eyes agog. As Rathe's cold eyes slid over them, each pirate found a reason to murmur quietly and turn away.

Soon only the regular patrons were looking on at the red-haired man standing above Stig. The Innkeeper coughed pointedly and gestured for his patrons to move away and give the man some room. He'd step in to either tend to the grievously wounded pirate (or schlepp away the dead body) once the man was done… and not a moment before.

Rathe felt a presence move up beside him and he turned to look at Fleur.

"Is he dead?" She whispered.

"Would you be sad?" Rathe answered.

Fleur shrugged and looked up at him.

"Doesn't matter if I'm sad or not. What matters is whether you killed him."

Rathe all but rolled his eyes as he leaned down and felt Stig's neck. A thin reedy pulse beat weakly beneath his fingers. He straightened and looked at Fleur.

"He's alive. This… man… who has probably killed dozens, raped hundreds and stolen thousands is still alive. _Justice reigns supreme_."

His tone was dripping with scorn and sarcasm.

Fleur looked at him and said very quietly, "Why is it up to you to deliver justice anyway?"

Rathe frowned sharply. He opened his mouth to reply and found he had no reply.

_Why __**is**__ it my place to deliver justice?_

He shook his head angrily and knelt beside the pirate. He began patting him down and turning his pockets inside out. Rathe found a piece of scrap parchment and sat back on his heels as he unfolded it.

_Stig,_

_You and your crew must move quickly. The Company is attempting to resume shipping routes from Sentinel to Windhelm. You can likely intercept them off the shore of Dawnstar. Return to Japhet's Folly when you've handled them and I'll have your cut, with more instructions._

_Haldyn_

"Haldyn." Rathe murmured. The name didn't sound like the typical monikers adopted by pirates; case in point being Stig Salt Plank.

The Shadow-Walker rocked to his feet and held the note out to Fleur. She took it and read the few scrawled words carefully. He watched her as she read and glanced back down at the unconscious pirate below him.

_Why is it my place to deliver justice?_

Fleur looked up and handed the note back to Rathe wordlessly. He folded it and tucked it into his breast pocket.

"Do you think this Halyden could be the man you're looking for… the Albino?"

Rathe's eyes flashed but his lips tightened.

"No. If there's one thing I know about the Albino it's that he worked long and hard to have his title both feared and revered. He would've signed this note The Albino in big fat flourishing letters."

Fleur was taken aback by the bitterness in his usually even toned voice. Truly this Albino had done him a great wrong. She looked down at Stig who was beginning to make wet moaning noises.

Rathe's voice was dispassionate again but his grip on his sword hilt was tight.

"Not the Albino… but he may know where that vile worm is hiding."

Fleur felt the sudden urge to reach out and touch him, to absorb some of the hate that was eating him up inside but she wondered whether he might simply slap her hand away and rebuff her… and she didn't want him to do that.

Instead she coughed and spoke with careful consideration.

"Well, I remember reading that Japhet's Folly was a Nordic fort that was garrisoned up till about a hundred years ago. They were settlers lead by a man named Japhet who dreamed of setting up a citadel on a remote island where it was said he planned to live a free life outside of the yoke of mankind. Gradually the men, women and children of his settlement began dying off and it was rumoured that the place was cursed and the ghosts of long dead Nords roamed the halls. The history is unclear of whatever happened but all the literature agrees that Japhet's Folly is situated on Rockjoint island; completely inaccessible without a ship."

She looked up and caught Rathe looking at her with wide, impressed eyes.

"How do you know all that?" He asked.

Fleur shrugged and when she spoke, her voice had taken on some of his own bitter tang.

"I didn't have much to do in Raldbthar for those long years. Reading became my passion."

Rathe nodded and his mind dredged up an image of Fleur standing there in that flimsy nightgown her brother had dressed her in, wide eyed and terrified. Anger swelled within him and he was yet again glad the man was dead.

Stig Salt Plank moaned again and both looked down at him.

"So… we need a ship to get there." Rathe continued his thought as though there was not a dying man coughing blood onto the floor at his feet.

Fleur nodded in agreement.

"We need to get back to Windhelm. The East Empire Company can provide us with a ship… it's as much in their best interests for us to get to the Blood Horker's headquarters as it is in ours."

_Ours_. When did this task become _ours_ not _mine_. When did it become _us_ not _me_?

The sudden unbidden thought struck Rathe like a lightning bolt and he nearly staggered. How in all the plains of Oblivion had this innocent, auburn haired creature gotten so under his skin? How had he left her alive? How had he allowed her to travel with him? How had she made things _us_ not _me_?

All of the Shadow-Walker's cold, aloof traits and years of hard discipline at Vaden Dren's hands came rearing up at that moment. He looked at Fleur and saw her for the wide eyed innocent girl that she was. The non-stealthy, non-combat, drain on his purse-strings, _burden_ that she was. He knew that she herself held mixed and conflicted feelings and views about _him_; the murderer of her brother. The man who had taken her from her home. The man who had no compunction to violently kill and main for coin and information. A tainted soul.

The conclusion was obvious.

They needed to separate. He could not keep her at his side and he was too dangerous to stay by hers. She would kill him fast by giving his position away or by him leaping out to protect her and getting shot or stabbed. He… he would kill her slowly by tainting her pure soul with his own, black, corrupt one.

Fleur flicked a strand of hair from her face and shifted the crossbow on her back.

"So. Back to Windhelm. Shall we go tonight or shall we stay here the night and travel at dawn?"

Rathe looked into those lovely eyes and clarity washed over him like a wave. If he left her behind, she'd follow him. If he abandoned her somewhere she'd find him. If she travelled with him, they were doomed. There really was only one answer.

"We'll leave immediately. Travel at night. Get there quicker."

And on that long trip back to Windhelm… he would kill Fleur.


	26. Death and The Biting Cold

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 26

Death and The Biting Cold

A foul, evil wind had kicked up, the temperature had plummeted and night was upon Dawnstar as the two stepped out of Windpeak Inn. Rathe tugged his cloak around himself and shuddered as the cold night sank her chill fingers deep into his spine. He heard a muttered word behind him and turned to see Fleur shivering violently on the porch.

She looked at him and the expression on her face was plain as day; _are you kidding? We're going out in this?_

Rathe shrugged and pressed his arms across his chest for warmth.

"It's not too bad. We can still ride."

Fleur's eyebrows rose incredulously but she didn't argue. She knew he was in a dire hurry to get back to Windhelm and if he said riding through such seemingly treacherous conditions was safe, then she believed him.

"The wind is whipping the clouds away quickly so there's quite a lot of moonlight. We can see the path… well more importantly the horses can see the path. They will be able to find their footing. So it's a bit cold but we'll be fine."

Fleur realised he was trying to convince himself more than he was trying to convince her and she felt a sudden cold ball in the pit of her stomach.

"Why not just wait till morning? Even till pre-dawn… that's only six hours away and the storm may have blown itself out by then."

Rathe frowned at her.

"It's not a storm Fleur. I wouldn't take us riding in a storm… it's just a bit of sleet and snow."

Fleur returned his frown and mumbled, "seems stormy to me."

Her words were whipped away in the wind and he didn't hear them.

"Come. Let's get a move on. We can be at Windhelm by dawn if we move fast."

_And on the way I can find a secluded place to… _

Rathe didn't finish the thought. There was no point. He knew what he had to do… no sense in dwelling on it.

He spent the next few minutes checking Sicarius to ensure his black steed was ready to ride. The stable boy had cared for his arrow wound well and Sicarius showed no signs of infection. Rathe fondly patted the horse and turned to help Fleur up. He placed his hands on either side of her waist and helped her up. Her scent of mountain flowers engulfed him and he wondered how she managed to smell so good after days of travel while he himself stank of leather and sweat.

Fleur took the reins and settled herself on Sicarius. The horse turned and nickered a greeting at her, warmly welcoming her to his large expansive back. The friendly gesture from the horse was not lost on Rathe. He spun on his heel and stalked to Princess. He tugged the reins and wheeled her around and flung himself up into her saddle. Without another thought he kicked the mare and sent her galloping through the dark, blizzard-like conditions without a second look back at Dawnstar, Sicarius or Fleur.

Only the answering neigh of the black stallion told him that she was following… always following.

The next few hours came close to being the most horrible moments of Fleur's life. She'd been paraded around in front of leering men like a piece of beef. She'd held her brother's dead body in her arms and been carried away by his killer. She'd taken a life, violently… but this ride, through the freezing Skyrim night nearly matched all of those situations for pain, discomfort and horror.

The bitter wind bit through the layers of clothes and slashed at her vulnerable skin like razor sharp blades. Sleet froze her eyelashes and she had to squint to try and see. Her fingers ached and cramped so that she could no longer hold the reins and had to allow Sicarius to follow Rathe unguided. Soon tears began squeezing from her eyes only to freeze on her cheeks and become mini icicles. The pain was unbearable and she wondered how much longer she could go on before freezing to death.

She pried her eyes open and made out Rathe's dark shape plodding through the blizzard a few feet in front of her. He was hunched low in his saddle, his head bowed. Fleur wondered if he was in as much intense pain as she. Though it sent fearsome cramps shooting through the backs of her legs, Fleur dug her heels into Sicarius and urged him forward. The black steed sluggishly broke into a trot and soon caught up to Rathe and Princess. As they drew alongside one another Rathe turned stiffly.

Fleur drew in a deep breath as the moonlight glinted off his face and revealed the dark expression there. Truly he looked miserable and introspective at that moment. He snapped out of his reverie as he noticed Fleur. He frowned as he took in her red cheeks and blue lips.

"Too… cold." She muttered. She was unable to say anything more but her limited words were enough.

The Shadow-Walker nodded and jerked his head in a Westerly direction. He pulled on the reins and sent Princess veering off the path. Fleur allowed Sicarius to follow and winced as he plunged into deep snow that nearly brushed his belly.

_Poor baby_ she thought to herself, pitying the black steed's discomfiture as much as her own.

They rode silently for a further ten minutes and if anything the blizzard kicked up in intensity and ferocity. Just as Fleur thought she'd black out from pain and cold she heard Princess's neigh in the near distance and she looked up to see a flickering light ahead.

_Torchlight_.

Sicarius plodded through the snow and approached the stone ruins of a long forgotten Draugr crypt. Or perhaps not so long forgotten as there was a flickering torch burning brightly in the alcove out the front of the ruin.

Rathe directed Princess right up and inside the alcove, only stopping to dismount when she was completely beneath the curved stone roof. It wasn't fantastic shelter but at least the horse was out of the stinging wind. Sicarius clumped up the stairs and into the alcove; his hooves sliding out beneath him on the slick steps.

Rathe waited to help Fleur down noticing how stiff the girl was, and watched as both horses pressed against one another for warmth. They ambled towards the torchlight; instinctively knowing there was safety and warmth to be found next to the torch. There was nothing more he could do for their mounts but he suspected they would shiver through the remainder of the night and be none the worse for wear when sun dawned on the morrow.

He turned to face a large iron door that sealed the crypt against the weather and intruders and pressed his gloved hands against it. He shoved against the door and it barely shuddered. Rathe drew back and took in a deep breath. He pressed his shoulder against the door and shoved again with everything he had. The door shuddered open a few feet.

Blackness yawned out of the ruin and Rathe and Fleur met each other's gaze silently. He sucked in and slid through the narrow opening, one blade drawn and its tip piercing the blackness first and foremost. As soon as he entered the _smell_ hit him and he nearly gagged. Fleur, creeping up behind him made a muffled noise and he knew she too smelled the terrible, rank odour.

Death.

Rathe waited as his eyes adjusted to the gloom and he realised there were torches lit inside the ruin that gutted slowly in the wind being let inside through the ajar door. Shadows danced wildly along the stone walls of the ruin and the scene before them came into focus. Stools had been upended and discarded wine bottles were scattered around the stone floor. A spit with mangy, rank meat lay across a cold fire pit and despite the frigid temperature in the ruin Rathe could see maggots burrowing into the spoilt meat. The rotting meat was not the main cause of the stench however – _that_ was emanating from the bloated, swollen corpse laying on the floor in a pool of dried, black blood.

Fleur's hands flew to her face to cover her mouth and nose. She groaned louder and Rathe shot her a dark look reminding her to keep silent.

He moved cautiously into the ruin, inching towards the dead body as his eyes scanned the surrounds for movement. He gingerly poked a toe into the blood and his boot stuck for a second before coming free.

_Tacky_.

The kill wasn't fresh but also wasn't old enough to suggest the killer had moved on. For all Rathe knew, the killer might be lurking in the darkened hallway beyond. He looked down at the wound that had killed the woman and grimaced. It had been made with a blunt edged weapon that had more hacked than slashed the now dead woman.

_Not a clean kill_.

Rathe scanned the area surrounding the body and noticed a shape further down the hallway, partially obscured in shadows. He crept over to the shape and gingerly hunkered down. He studied the dried, desiccated corpse carefully.

_Draugr_.

Rathe was fascinated with these walking dead corpses that Skyrim seemed to be plagued with. His homeland of Cyrodil had been known to have zombies and skeletons roaming in ruins and crypts, but these long dead Nordic heroes were truly something else. Possessing levels of intelligence and able to move with speed, stealth and cunning, these creatures were sometimes quite the foe.

This one however, was dead. Truly dead. It's burnished blue eyes had lost their lustre and winked out. A foot of short sword poked up from the corpse's mid-section and Rathe suspected the deceased woman had landed the death blow even as she was dying herself.

The Shadow-Walker stood up and peered further into the ruin.

He'd prefer not to have to shelter in a crypt where Draugr and unknown humans may still be alive but he could hear the storm raging outside through the thick walls and knew that heading back out there was not an option. Rathe squinted down the hall and saw a lit room down a small flight of steps at the end of the hall. He silently slid through the darkness, his blade poised and ready, and came to the small chamber.

A few sleeping rolls were scattered about and another stinking dead body lay on one amidst a spattering of gore. There were no Draugr present; dead or truly dead. A few torches hung on the walls in rusted sconces and shed an incongruently cheery light over the grim scene. There was only one other hall leading out of this room and it was easily fortifiable. He suspected he could shove the table and chairs at the back of the room against the opening to bar the way and provide warning should anything creep up from lower in the crypt.

This would suit their purposes to rest and rejuvenate.

And if Rathe left one more dead body behind in this foul crypt when he left… no one would be the wiser.

He turned and trudged back to Fleur who still stood on the doorstep, though she'd moved further in to be out of the stinging, shrieking wind. She turned those big eyes onto him as he approached and shivered uncontrollably.

"There's a chamber down there that we can take refuge in. It's warmer than here and there's somewhere to sit."

Fleur glanced down at the dead body.

"Is it safe?" She whispered.

Rathe shrugged.

"As safe as huddling here and a lot warmer."

Fleur frowned and looked back up at the Shadow-Walker. That tiny smile brushed her lips and she took a step forward.

"Well, I have the fearsome Rathe at my side to chase off the bad things so I guess it _must_ be safe."

Rathe frowned sharply.

_To chase off the bad things…_

Fleur didn't notice his expression as she tentatively crossed the floor to stand beside him. He noticed that she pressed against him as she peered down the set of steps and he drew in a breath and had to keep from taking a step backwards to put some distance between them.

"Come on." He spoke gruffly and gave her a little shove to move her out of his way.

Rathe headed back down the stairs, sheathing his blade as he went and with Fleur creeping along behind him in his shadow. As they entered the small chamber Fleur's gasp was audible as her eyes fell on the dead body lying awkwardly on the blood-soaked sleeping roll. Rathe turned and glanced at her and saw the horror in her eyes.

"Want me to get rid of it?" He asked quietly.

She nodded quickly and pressed up against the back wall.

Rathe held in his sigh and strode towards the dead body. He took hold of the corpse's arms and dragged her off the sleeping roll towards the dark steps that led further into the depths of the cavern. He heaved the body to the edge of the steps and nudged it with his toe so the dead weight slowly rolled down the first couple of steps before getting wedged in the narrow passage. He was about to kick it further down the steps when he realised the shadowy obstruction would provide early indication of someone – or _something_ - creeping up the passage towards them; the body wouldn't be seen and whoever it was would surely stumble over it and alert the Shadow-Walker of their presence.

He left the half wedged, bloated corpse where it was and turned back to Fleur.

"Gone."

She nodded and breathed out deeply. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the blood soaked sleeping roll.

"Still stinks though."

Rathe shrugged and began inspecting the scattered contents of the chamber.

"Not much we can do about that. The smell of death will linger for months while the bodies rot away."

"Charming." Fleur's tone was acidic and Rathe couldn't help but grin at her incensed affront.

She wandered over to a small corner table and ran her finger over the surface of the table. Her glove came away covered with a film of dust.

"This place is in poor repair. Whoever these people were sheltering here, they weren't about to move in permanently."

Rathe turned to her and watched her curiously.

"What makes you say that?"

"Well, Alain moved us into an abandoned ruin. When we first arrived it was like this. Deserted, discarded… desecrated really. But he set the crews to work every day making it… well, making it a home."

Rathe watched her as she spoke about her brother. He detected an odd note of pride in her tone.

"I spent many, many days scrubbing and cleaning that ruin. Keeping it well tended and looked after. Alain's crew kept the machines oiled and made sure they kept on blowing the steam and turning the valves they were supposed to… I don't think he knew what they were for but he once said that they'd been doing that for centuries so probably should keep on doing it. I kept the whole ruin free of dust, cobwebs and grime – Raldbthar _sparkled_."

Rathe had folded his arms across his chest and said languidly, "was this before or after your brother pimped you out?"

Fleur's eyes flashed and her fists clenched. Then she remembered what her brother _really_ was. She lowered her head and turned away from the Shadow-Walker so he couldn't see the tears that sprang painfully to her eyes.

Rathe watched her with her back turned to him; her mind turned internal and her defences down.

This was the moment.

The Shadow-Walker's hand slid down to the steel dagger he wore on his hip. He wrapped his fingers around the blade and took a step closer to Fleur. His mouth was dry and his heart had begun racing in his chest. His fingers tightened on the hilt and he took another step closer to her. The temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees. He slid the dagger an inch out of its hilt. It felt like it was made of lead. He took another step closer to her. He felt like _he_ was made of lead.

He hesitated…


	27. The Scrap of Cloth and Bitter Tale Told

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 27

The Scrap of Cloth and a Bitter Tale Told

Fleur suddenly spun around and with too bright eyes stared at Rathe. She was slightly taken aback at how close he was but was too excited to give it much thought.

"Let me see that note again!"

Rathe blinked – stupefied.

He released his grip on the hilt of his dagger and fumbled in his pocket for the note he'd plucked from Stig's inert body. Fleur was impatiently watching him and couldn't stop the flood of words.

"I think I remember Alain saying something about a man named Haldyn once… a mage? I just need to see the name again to see if it reminds me…"

Rathe tugged the note free of his breast pocket and was so flustered he didn't notice the piece of carefully folded cloth flutter to the floor. Fleur noticed the scrap of fabric land lightly on the dusty floor and murmured, "you dropped something."

She bent to retrieve the cloth, closing her gloved hand around it as Rathe leaned down to look at what he'd dropped. His eyes widened as he watched Fleur straighten clutching the scrap of material in her hands.

_Regan's dress._

Fleur was looking at the odd piece of pretty, flowery material with a little confused frown across her brow and didn't see the terrible, cold look that came across the Shadow-Walker's face.

It was only when he spoke in a tone that hinted of pain and death that she looked up.

"Give it to me."

Fleur's fingers curled around the material and she flinched backwards.

"What is it?" She asked quietly.

Rathe took a step closer and held out one hand.

_"Give it to me."_

In a blur of movement Fleur stuffed the scrap of material beneath her belt and shook her head.

"Not until you tell me what it is."

Rathe surged forward and grabbed her by her arms. He shook her once and his fingers dug painfully into her arms.

"I'm not playing around Fleur. Give it to me _now_!"

She tried to shrink back from the monster before her but he held her close so that their faces were nearly touching. She spoke in a hushed voice but there was a note of steel in her tone.

"No. Not until you tell me why you're carrying a scrap of a girl's dress around in your pocket! Why have you got this Rathe? What did you do?"

Rathe's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open. A little fleck of spittle wobbled on his lower lip as he looked at her with outraged eyes blazing with fury.

"You think I did something to her? You think _i_ did something to _her_?"

Fleur shrugged helplessly.

"Well why would you of all people carry around a scrap of fabric from a girl's dress?"

Rathe's teeth clamped together and when he spoke he hissed through his clenched teeth.

"Oh you want to know do you? You _really_ want to know?"

Fleur nodded, terrified but determined.

Rathe swore so violently Fleur flinched and for a moment she thought he was going to raise his hand to her. Instead he released her abruptly with a little shove and turned his back on her. He forced a long breath out of his lungs and pressed his hands against his face.

"Sit down." He commanded coldly.

Fleur moved instantly to the nearest bed roll and lowered herself down. She waited in silence as the Shadow-Walker – with his back still turned to her – gathered his thoughts. Finally, with deliberate slowness he turned and looked down at the girl.

She was so small. So vulnerable. So trusting.

So like Regan.

Rathe squatted down in front of her and when he spoke his voice was strained; still simmering with anger but now also ragged with grief.

"The fabric belonged to a dress worn by… my sister. It was her favourite dress. She… she wasn't wearing it that day… which is why I was able to take a piece with me. If she'd been wearing it when he took her… I'd have nothing of hers."

Fleur watched him with wide eyes and though a thousand questions burned her tongue she let none fall.

"I remember the last time she wore this dress we'd been caught in a spring shower and she got drenched. We both did. I made her take it off and hang it up to dry inside by the fire and she was angry with me because she wouldn't be able to wear it for the rest of the day. Instead she'd been wearing… Gods, I don't even know anymore _what_ she'd been wearing when he took her…

He lapsed into silence and Fleur subtly retrieved the piece of fabric from her belt. She held it carefully before she spoke.

"It was the Albino wasn't it. He was the one who took her."

Rathe nodded and couldn't meet her gaze.

"You said he killed your father. But he also took your sister."

Again the Shadow-Walker nodded.

"He took her as payment for the debt my father owed him. And I couldn't do anything to stop him. He took her as payment Fleur… do you know what that means?"

Rathe looked at her now and she saw blazing hatred in his eyes. She nodded. She, who'd nearly been sold to make her brother rich, knew full well how a man would take his payment from a girl.

Fleur fondled the scrap of material and looked down at it thoughtfully.

"That's why you do what you do. _She's_ the reason you kill isn't she. _She's_ the reason you hunt the Albino."

Rathe didn't nod. Didn't shake his head. His shoulders simply slumped and he looked down at the material in her hands.

"I _need_ to find her Fleur. I am her brother. I was supposed to protect her."

The self-recrimination in his tone was brutal. Fleur was nearly physically knocked back at the pain and torture in his voice; also reflected in his pale eyes, glistening with unshed tears.

"You had a father didn't you?"

Rathe frowned and grimaced.

"Of sorts."

"Then why was her protection on your shoulders Rathe?"

The Shadow-Walker shrugged uncomfortably and muttered, "he was good for nothing but finding the bottom of a wine bottle. Without me, Regan would have had no one. I was her only other kin. Her father, her mother, her brother; I was all."

Fleur shook her head gently and spoke in a hushed voice.

"No mother. Drunken father. Only a brother… this sounds familiar."

Rathe looked at her and frowned.

Fleur continued.

"You provided for her. You raised her. You protected her."

Rathe's face twisted and he snapped, "I _failed_ at protecting her Fleur!"

"Did _you_ sell her to the Albino?"

Rathe's sharp intake of breath was loud in the silent chamber. Before he could have a chance to do or say anything she continued.

"Did you give him your sister's body for coin and future prosperity Rathe? No. How then, did you fail to protect her?"

The Shadow-Walker's teeth were so clenched together that the muscles and tendons around his jaw protruded beneath his skin.

"I. Couldn't. Stop. Him. From. Taking. Her."

"So you _tried_?"

Rathe's voice was deafening as he shouted, "Of course I damn well tried to stop him! I fought until I was broken and bruised… but it wasn't enough… it wasn't enough."

Fleur nodded and tentatively reached out. She pressed her hand against his arm and felt him vibrating through her gloves.

"So… you didn't sell your sister. Instead, you fought with all that you had for her… and yet you think you failed her."

Rathe and Fleur locked eyes. Pale green met ocean blue and worlds collided.

"Do you know how much I would have given to have had you as _my_ brother? Do you know how much my soul has suffered at the hands of a brother who truly _did_ fail his sister?"

Rathe looked down and swallowed.

Fleur inched closer to him and whispered, "You've devoted your _entire_ life to retribution for your sister. To finding your sister. Rathe, you've devoted your entire life to your sister…"

"Regan." He whispered.

"To Regan." Fleur said quietly.

"And I can think of no more noble, honourable, loyal and devoted brother in all the tales I've read."

He looked into Fleur's eyes and saw truth and honesty there. But more than that; he saw acceptance. She accepted him. His thirst for vengeance. His thirst for blood and death. His insatiable, relentless search for Regan.

She moved even closer to him and pressed the piece of fabric into his hands. Then she slowly raised her hands to gently cup his face.

"I knew there was something hidden within you. And now I've found it."

Rathe allowed himself to be held; to be forced to look into those ocean-blue eyes and have his soul exposed for her to see. He allowed it… and didn't mind it. That angry, bitter ball that he kept in his stomach had neither decreased in size or ferocity by sharing this burden with Fleur but it had been lightened simply through her acceptance of him.

She accepted his path. She accepted what he was. She accepted what he must do. And he _needed_ her acceptance. He realised that he could no more have drawn his blade across her lovely throat than he could have turned it on Regan all those years before to spare her of the harsh years of hunger and poverty they'd lived through. Regan was too much a part of him to have been relinquished – even _if_ it would have untimely benefited her. And now Fleur had firmly taken her place… she was too much under his skin to lose.

And at that moment, huddled amongst the death and decay of a Draugr crypt, Rathe Decanius realised that he did indeed have only one option when it came to Fleur Dufont, only he'd misinterpreted that option; he didn't need to _kill_ Fleur… he needed to do something infinitely more difficult…

He needed to _love_ her.


	28. What The Innkeeper Saw

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 28

What The Innkeeper Saw

It was a typically quiet night. My usuals were drinking quietly in their corners and aside from one _strange_ traveller, all was normal in the tavern. I was busily wiping down the bar when the door suddenly banged open and two new strangers walked in bringing with them a blast of cold air.

I barked out that they hurry in and shut the door and was given a vile look from the man. I shuddered when his pale eyes fell upon me and bit my tongue to keep from saying anything else. His lovely young traveller looked around with curiously innocent eyes and moved her way over to a table.

I watched them as they moved and it forcibly reminded me of a mother bear with her cub the way he hovered behind her, glaring at any patron in their way until the patron felt the sudden desire to move further towards the fireplace, or find another bench to sit upon.

He leaned down to her and began muttering in earnest. I was too far away to hear their conversation but the girl's face didn't look too impressed with his orders… and surely they must have been orders for moments later she flounced to a bench and sat down with her back to the man.

It was at this precise moment that the other stranger in my tavern turned from the ale she was quietly drinking and gazed at the lovely young girl with her intense green eyes. She tossed her head and sent her blonde tresses caressing her shoulders.

I watched as the tall, imposing man also noticed the stranger's interest and paused behind her. His hands strayed to the blades he kept so prominently displayed at his hips. Having copped an eyeful (and let me tell you it _was_ an eyeful) of the other armed stranger tonight I didn't feel too thrilled about these two falling into some kind of scrum in my tavern.

As the tall red haired man edged closer to the blonde stranger whose back was still turned to him, I edged forward from the bar to keep… abreast of the situation. I will admit to slipping a steel dagger into my belt – though Gods knew what help it might be against _these_ two.

At that moment the blonde stranger turned to the tall man and spoke in her no nonsense tone (that had sent chills down my spine when she'd ordered her ale not more than two hours ago).

"Help you?"

The tall man looked down at her as she turned and rolled those stunning eyes over him.

He sniffed and spoke in a very quiet voice (I had to move considerably closer to hear).

"Can I help _you_? You seem awfully interested in my… companion here."

The stranger very slowly turned on her bench and clambered to her feet. The armor she wore was tight, skin hugging and revealed all of her womanly curves. I nearly dropped the ale tankard in my hand.

She fixed the red haired man who wore that unusual tattoo on his face with her green eyes.

"Just wondering what the girl did to be escorted by a member of my family."

As I wondered what family she could be referring to (for they certainly bore _no _resemblance to one another), the tall man's lips twitched into a smile… a terrifying smile if ever I've seen one.

The blonde Goddess didn't seem to be concerned with that smile, though I had to clutch the back of a chair to keep from going weak at the knees. He exuded menace and death… and she didn't seem bothered by it!

"She's not being escorted by family." The man said coolly.

The stunning stranger's own lips twisted into a smile; Gods was she beautiful!

"Are you saying she's not being escorted… or you're not family?"

The man's expression became slightly irritated and his tone was curt.

"Is this really the place to have this conversation?"

The stranger's face lit up in a sensuous grin and practically purred when she answered him.

"You're right, talk is overrated…"

The man couldn't supress his own answering grin as the primal male part of him responded to her charms. (My own male part was responding and I was half way across the room!)

"What else did you have in mind?"

His tone now smouldered and he took a deliberate step closer to her.

"Something certainly more exciting than talking." She pouted.

She stood firmly as he moved closer to her; close enough that his intricate leather armor brushed against the close fitting black of her armor.

"What are you doing here?"

The stranger's face split into a wider grin and she pushed back into him as he leaned in.

"I always keep a close eye on my new… investments."

A frown flickered across the man's brow and perhaps this was what drew the attention of the young girl who he'd come in with. (Perhaps also it was seeing her man so closely pressed up against that lurid female).

Either way she now gracefully climbed from her seat and like me, moved closer to the two; close enough to hear their conversation but not close enough to be sucked into the vortex of intensity and heat surrounding them, almost tangible with electricity.

"Investment. Interesting choice of words."

"Isn't it just?" She spoke in a voice that was pure musk.

From my vantage point I could see her hand had pressed against a place I'm sure not many hands dared to stray. The tankard had no chance this time; it slipped from my nerveless fingers and clattered noisily to the floor.

They didn't notice.

"What do you want?"

His voice matched hers for intensity and now I noticed that the heat and tension surrounding them was not purely about chemistry; this was a dance… a dangerous dance like the Elseweyr Asp dances before spitting venom at its prey.

"Just to observe."

His eyes glinted like steel and he leaned even closer to her so that his lips nearly brushed the curve of her ear.

"Then observe… and then stay out of my way."

The smile slipped for one brief instant from her face and I wondered if she had finally seen the asp before her coiled and ready to strike.

She slid her hand against him and whispered (and I had to lean in to hear this); "Don't get riled, handsome. I know enough to know when I'm not wanted..."

He seemed satisfied with that answer and a smile returned to his lips. That dangerous predatory smile.

I detected movement behind the stunning pair and looked over their shoulders. That lovely innocent girl was wearing the most curious expression. She seemed intrigued, aroused and disgusted all at once. What a most fascinating reaction? Almost as though she'd never witnessed foreplay before.

The pair still didn't see.

In fact they didn't see anything except each other.

"Well. I can see that you and your… companion… don't want other company and I myself have pressing business elsewhere. I guess it's goodnight then… handsome."

A smile played on her lips as she spoke that final word.

Finally the man's own smile returned and he spoke cryptically.

"Watch out for werewolves out there."

The blonde grinned wickedly and whispered, "werewolves don't bother me…"

The innocent girl seemed as intrigued as myself as she leaned in to hear their low conversation. Her pretty little hands fluttered at her throat as if they didn't know what to do with themselves. She jolted in surprise as the blonde stranger stepped firmly back from the man.

"Then I will bid you good night."

The man inclined his head in a polite and exaggerated nod and looked her up and down.

The woman moved towards the fire pit in the centre of the room; those light boots of hers never making a sound as she glided along. She paused and half turned to look at him and the firelight danced over her clad body.

"Take care and I hope to see you soon."

That dangerous little smile came to his lips in response.

"Perhaps." He replied simply.

His eyes glinted in the firelight, bringing warmth to their cold, reflective gaze.

The stranger turned up her own smile and my own knees turned to jelly again at that look. It damn near set the tavern on fire it smouldered so much! And he… he did nothing!

He simply let his own answering smile play on his lips and watched as she turned and strode from the tavern.

If it wouldn't have meant my life I'd have raced over and thumped the obstinate man in the face! For chasing her out of _my_ tavern (and for not taking her into the back room and ravishing her on the floor where I could peak through that little knot hole and at least get a good show!).

Instead he turned and made his way back to the girl who was hovering near the back of the tavern. She looked up as he approached and her expression was all confusion and hurt.

I couldn't hear what he said to her but the expression was clear to see; she'd been disturbed by his wanton play with that woman and she looked as though she too wanted to smack him across the face. She instead folded her arms across her chest and listened as he spoke.

Whatever he said made her lower her head and slump those pretty shoulders. I watched as the fire inside her was quenched and she allowed him to take her by the arm and lead her back towards the door.

It seemed they weren't going to lodge here after all. I watched helplessly as he pulled her out of the tavern and the door slammed firmly shut behind them.

My promising night had suddenly got a _lot_ more boring.


	29. The Praefect and the Agent

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 29

The Praefect and the Agent

Unsurprisingly the weather was foul, bleak and cold when the two travellers entered the frozen city of Windhelm. They kept their heads bowed and walked swiftly through the slick streets, thickly wrapped and hooded against both the cold and curious eyes. Anyone astute enough would have observed the man's cloak bulging out at the hip where he kept a hand pressed to a concealed blade. Anyone astute enough might also have noticed how the two walked in synchrony and if they fell slightly out of step he would slow his long strides to match hers or she would hasten to catch up to him. But no one astute or otherwise was watching them.

The two proceeded through the large gate that led to the Windhelm docks and turned their steps down to the reeking dockside. Rathe now took the lead and Fleur hung behind him, closely watching the assorted sailors, old salts and ne'er do wells that tended to congregate around docksides. She wondered if she should sling her crossbow around to her front instead of having it hidden beneath her fur cloak but reasoned that no harm would befall her down in this ghetto whilst Rathe was at her side.

The Shadow-Walker, as if sensing her unspoken thought, turned and gave her a reassuring glance before continuing on. They soon came to a series of warehouses embedded deep into the Windhelm stone and as Rathe scanned each door looking for that familiar sigil, he couldn't help but notice the Imperial Army galley docked in the harbour.

Imperial soldiers in their glinting steel uniforms and snapping red cloaks strode the decks importantly while sailors dashed about messing with masts and rigging.

_What's an Imperial ship doing deep in Stormcloak territory?_

Though Rathe had been careful to remain neutral in the growing disquiet surrounding the civil war, he was not ignorant of the hostility between the Imperial Empire and the Stormcloak rebels. He supposed his own Imperial bloodline should have swayed him to side with the empire but some bitter part of the man resented the empire for allowing his family to slip into poverty which ultimately led to his father's drinking, gambling and subsequent death. He often wondered if the Decanius family had been Nords whether or not his Nordic kin would've allowed them to slip into ignominy the way his Imperial kin had. A curious question he'd never know the answer to.

Rathe turned away from the Imperial ship as the East Empire Company door came into sight. He didn't pause, didn't knock and didn't glance about; simply strode straight in.

He immediately realised he'd walked in on a conversation about him.

"…got a man looking into their headquarters even as we speak… in fact, this is he!"

Rathe's eyes were still adjusting to the gloom of the shabby interior of the warehouse when two people came striding towards him. His grip tightened on the hilt of his blade but relaxed again when he recognised the Redguard male from his last visit to this grim warehouse. Rathe stepped deeper into the warehouse towards the approaching pair and allowed Fleur to slip in behind him.

The Shadow-Walker's eyes flicked from the Redguard to his companion and a wary frown crossed his brow. Striding along in heavy clumping boots was an Imperial officer in full military regalia. Rathe noticed that her hand too rested on the hilt of her fine long sword and he noticed that as he was sizing her up, so she was also appraising him.

"_This_ is your man Endario? He looks more like a common cutpurse."

She spoke in the clear, commanding voice of one who is used to being obeyed. Rathe recognised a strong leader when he saw one; she'd be the one he'd aim for on a battle field to demoralise and disorganise her troops.

The Redguard, Endario, frowned and stammered.

"No… no… not this one. I mean yes, this is he, but no, he's no cutpurse!"

Rathe smirked inwardly. Obviously Endario was remembering their last encounter when Rathe had lost his cool and nearly throttled the Redguard. The Imperial soldier cocked an eyebrow and had an obvious look of distaste and disbelief across her harsh features.

"I can assure you Quaestor, I am neither common nor a cutpurse."

He didn't really know her rank and had only taken a stab in the dark so was not surprised when she frowned and snapped, "that's _Praefect_."

The Redguard sensed trouble between these two firebrands and hastily interjected.

"Uh, yes… this is Praefect Adelaisa Vendicci. And uh, this is…"

He trailed off embarrassingly as he realised he didn't even know Rathe's name; the man he'd sent out on East Empire Company official business… and he didn't know his name!

"Maro. Gaius Maro."

The name meant nothing to Fleur or the Redguard but the Praefect's eyes widened and her mouth opened.

"You'd better have some papers to back up that claim!"

Rathe sighed an exasperated sigh and made a show of digging around in his pouches to find the identification papers tucked away there. He was deeply grateful Astrid had included in his 'welcome to the family' pack a complete set of identification papers for no less than thirteen different aliases. Among the many identities stowed in his pocket, Rathe could be a Nordic rube called Tulvur, a Breton mage teaching at the College of Winterhold or Proventus – the steward at Dragonsreach. Or he could be the upstart son of Penitus Oculatus Commander Maro – Gaius Julius Maro.

How Astrid had gotten her pretty paws on _these_ papers Rathe would never know – but was going to be eternally grateful.

He handed the papers over with the wounded air of one who is not used to such mistrustful treatment. He only hoped that this small time soldier had never actually seen the son of the shadowy agency's commanding officer.

Vendicci nearly snatched the papers in her haste. She held them up to a candle and moved her lips as she read.

Behind him, Rathe could feel the tension in Fleur's body as she peered around him. For the moment she was still unnoticed and he hoped she had the sense to remain silent.

The Praefect finally lowered the papers, squinted long and hard at Rathe and grunted.

"Why in Oblivion would the Penitus Oculatus be interested in the East Empire Company's trading woes?"

Rathe shrugged.

"Not that I need to explain my presence here to a _Praefect_, but know that this was a personal order from His Grace, Titus Mede II. It seems His Grace is not happy with the interruptions to the East Empire Company trade and is not totally convinced that the Legion can handle things. He asked the order to personally look into this mess."

He sneered at the insulted soldier and waved his hand dismissively.

"And I can see he was right to do so. While _I've_ been off getting information about these pirates and their headquarters you've been doing what? Standing here making a lot of noise and rattling your sword without actually achieving anything."

Vendicci bristled with anger and took a step forward.

"Listen you upstart! I'm not going to- "

Endario jumped between the two and rapidly spoke.

"Let's just all take a breath and stay calm here! We're all on the same side trying to achieve the same end – stopping these pirates from damaging our trade. Does it matter who did what? As long as we all work together to end this piracy!"

Rathe and Vendicci eyed each other over Endario's head. Eventually the soldier released her grip on her sword hilt and took a step backwards. Rathe likewise relaxed his stance and stretched his neck from side to side.

"Fine. What did you find out?" Vendicci snapped in a waspish tone.

Rathe reached back into his pocket to pull out Haldyn's letter (being sure not to snag Regan's material this time). He unfolded the note and spoke while he passed it to the Praefect.

"We know that the pirates are being organised by a man named Haldyn. I've got it on good authority that this man is a rogue mage. Powerful. Dangerous. Deals in black arts and the black market."

Behind him, Fleur shifted her weight slightly. She was very pleased to have remembered the name Haldyn from her brother's one time plan to get involved in offshore black market magicka potion smuggling. Though she'd never met the rogue mage, she knew from her brother's grudging respect that he was a foe to be feared.

Vendicci took her time reading the note and handed it to Endario when she was done. She raised a hand to smooth her already tightly controlled coils of hair and gazed at Rathe.

"I know this Japhet's Folly. It's off a cursed area around Rockjoint island. Treacherous waters; full of rocks, ice and violent storms. No wonder they've based themselves there."

Rathe nodded.

"If we can get to them there and take out this Haldyn, we can put a stop to this Gods damned piracy."

Vendicci nodded and said stiffly, "Well that's the legions' orders… as I'm sure you're well aware."

Rathe shrugged mildly.

The Praefect sniffed loudly and adjusted the straps on her chest plate.

"I have a ship moored out in the docks. We are ready to set sail. I assume the Order would like their representative to tag along?"

Rathe smiled inwardly at the bitterness in her tone and should he actually have been a real agent of the Oculatus he might have been incensed by her attitude. Instead he forced a frown to his features and snapped a brisk retort.

"Indeed I will be _tagging_ along. And I trust you have no issues with my associate here coming too?"

Both Endario and Vendicci finally noticed the small girl lurking behind Rathe. Fleur thought a smile would probably not be befitting for a supposed agent of the Penitus Oculatus so she merely returned their gaze with a slight nod of her head. Endario studied the beautiful girl and wondered whether she was an agent or this handsome man's concubine. Vendicci looked at the girl and saw soft flesh, pliant eyes and delicate features and knew the girl was no soldier. She didn't spare any more time thinking about her; if this upstart agent wanted his bed slave along on the journey then fine. Let her warm his sheets.

Vendicci shrugged nonchalantly.

"We have spare cabins so who you bring is your business. Just know that this isn't going to be a _pleasure_ cruise; we go to fight and bring these dogs to heel."

Rathe raised a brow and nodded compliantly.

"Good. Then whenever you're ready, meet me on deck of Kynareth's Grace."

She turned and pushed past Rathe and Fleur to exit the warehouse without another word.

"Charming lady." Fleur whispered, eliciting a smile from the Shadow-Walker.

Endario was looking carefully at Rathe with a shrewd expression across his features. The Shadow-Walker frowned.

"What?"

Endario's eyes widened and he swallowed nervously.

"Well, uh… it's just that when we first met… you… you seemed very interested in… ah, well, Skooma."

Rathe's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed into a thin line.

"Remembered that did you?"

Endario shrugged helplessly and looked as though he deeply regretted mentioning it.

Rathe leaned forward (much to Endario's discomfiture) and said in a low tone, "I'd ask you to keep that knowledge to yourself Endario. As far as anyone's concerned, my _only_ intent in getting involved in this is to reopen the trading routes for the East Empire Company. Understand?"

Endario nodded quickly though a frown still touched his features. Rathe sighed and when he spoke, his voice was exasperated.

"What now?"

Endrio licked his lips and shifted from one foot to the other.

"Well… it's just… why _did_ you originally ask about the Skooma trade?"

Rathe stared at the curious Redguard for a long moment.

When the silence grew so strained Fleur thought she was going to have to speak to break the tension Rathe finally answered.

"Let's just say that the Emperor has a vested interest in ensuring _all_ trade opportunities remain open and flowing…"

The Redguard's eyes were wide in his head as he nodded. Whether the man was implying the Emperor condoned Skooma importation or was himself an addict – the implication itself was scandalous. Endario knew his life wouldn't be worth spit if he breathed a word of this outside this room so he broke into hurried babbling.

"Gods above! Don't you worry sir, this will _never_ leave this room! You never mentioned Skooma to me. In fact, what _is_ Skooma?"

Rathe raised a hand and nodded.

"Alright, alright. Just know that if the Couriers start running around handing out notes that declare 'Emperor caught in Skooma web'… the Penitus Oculatus will be back to talk with you."

Endario nodded vigorously and continued babbling how he would take this knowledge to the grave.

Rathe led Fleur out of the warehouse with their ears _still_ full of the man's protests.

"I can't believe you told him such things about the Emperor!" Fleur said once the door was closed behind them.

Rathe turned to her and gave her one of his rare, genuine smiles.

"Neither can Endario. And that's enough to keep his mouth shut and pre-empt him from blabbing anything about Skooma to that Vendicci woman. We need to keep an eye on her Fleur. She'd a shrewd one."

Fleur nodded and cast her gaze over the moored ship swarming with Imperial legionnaires.

"Do you think she believes you're with the Penitus Oculatus?"

Rathe shrugged.

"Doesn't matter what she believes. By the time she gets an opportunity to check into my credentials, we'll be long gone. All this means is that Astrid loses one of the identities she'd procured from Gods know where. I may owe her a small fee for using this identity not for business but once again, doesn't matter."

Fleur frowned and said quietly, "you talk about this Astrid quite often. It was her that you were talking to the other night in the tavern wasn't it?"

Rathe chose not to answer her.

"Will I get to properly meet her one day?" Fleur asked quietly.

Rathe looked at her for a moment before answering.

"I sincerely hope not."

He jerked his head towards the moored ship and the two set off towards Kynareth's Grace.


	30. Stealth and Folly

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 30

Stealth and Folly

_Morndas, 29__th__ of Heart Fire – _

_Look at the state of my handwriting! This cursed rocking boat makes it too hard to write legibly. I'm told it won't be much longer before we get close to Rockjoint island where the pirates plaguing the East Empire Company are supposedly based, at a fort called Japhet's Folly. Cheery name indeed. Here finally I will find a man who directly knows the Albino. Here finally… finally… I will get my lead on him. Fleur cautions me on relying on this Haldyn's information… but she doesn't know how persuasive I can be. I hope though he talks willingly. I don't look forward to persuading him in front of her…_

As the frequency of screeching gulls overhead increased an eerie mist seemed to spring up out of nowhere and blanket Kynareth's Grace. Rathe stood at the edge of the ship peering at the thick mist as caws and screams echoed above his head. He suspected they were close to land – the shrieks of the sea birds testified to that, but beyond his own arm he couldn't see a thing.

A nearby deck hand grumbled, "don't like the way yon foul mist sprung up outta nowhere."

These words were echoed by other sailors aboard the big ship and Rathe shared their sentiments as he tried to peer through the haze. He felt a presence by his side and turned to look at Fleur. Her face was totally devoid of any colour and she clutched the railing with white knuckles. The poor girl hadn't taken to the ocean with any kind of grace and Rathe spent the best part of the night holding her hair back from her face as she retched over the side of the ship.

She was warmly wrapped in her furs but looked tired and wan and Rathe wondered again at the wisdom of letting her come aboard with him.

_Could've hired a room at Candlehearth Hall for her._

Even as he thought this he knew deep down two certainties; that she wouldn't have stayed behind, and that he no longer wanted her to stay behind.

Sudden cries from the sailors put an end to his thoughts and a flurry of action began as the men set to work putting down the anchor. Rathe straightened up and turned to see Praefect Vendicci come striding up from below deck. He and Fleur gingerly crossed the lilting deck and made their way to the Imperial soldier.

"Why are we stopping?" Rathe called as they approached. Creaking wood, raucous gull calls and bellowed orders from the old salts made it hard for him to hear himself think let alone speak.

Vendicci crossed her arms over her chest and shouted back to him.

"The Captain won't sail any further into this mist. He thinks we're close to the island and that this cursed mist is not natural."

"What do you mean 'not natural'?"

Vendicci turned and looked at the very mist in question and frowned.

"It came on too strong. And it's too thick. He said in the thirty years he's been at sea he's never seen such a thing. He thinks it's sorcery."

Fleur glanced out at the mist.

"Haldyn." She whispered.

Vendicci's cool gaze dropped onto the young woman and she nodded. She still didn't know the full extent of the relationship between these two and frankly, she didn't care. The girl had, however, proven to be insightful with her various comments over the journey. Insightful and polite… which was a darn sight better than her waspish, snappy companion. _He_ had been nothing but arrogant, priggish and obnoxious; a true agent of the Penitus Oculatus if ever she'd come across one.

"The Captain believes if the source of this magic is removed, the mist will vanish… and then we can storm the island."

Rathe's lips turned up into a sneer as he repeated her.

"If the source of magic is removed… and let me guess. You need a volunteer to do this?"

Vendicci glowered at him and couldn't stop her hand from pressing against the hilt of her blade. Truly this man got on her nerves!

"I _had_ intended to infiltrate Japhet's Folly myself, however if you're nominating yourself Maro…"

Rathe held up his hand dismissively.

"Of _course_ I'll go. I mean, I want the mage actually killed don't I? Leave it up to anyone else and it might well get stuffed up."

Fleur shot a look at the Praefect and was not surprised to see the proud woman flush an ugly shade of red. She deeply regretted that Rathe had to act so beastly towards the woman; from what Fleur could see, this was a noble and respectable woman. And a keen warrior to boot.

Vendicci struggled with the hot words that rushed to her tongue and instead of lashing this young man as she would've liked so very much, she forced a tight smile to her lips instead.

"Very well. The mission is yours."

She turned on her heel and stomped angrily away, sending sailors scattering away from her as she approached.

Rathe breathed out and said in a very low tone, "Thank the Gods for mages. Now we have the chance to… talk… to this Haldyn without any Imperials around."

Fleur shivered as he guided her to the port side of the ship. They stood side by side surveying the scene off the port side of the deck. Through the mist the outline of a dark island could just be made out. Great sheets of bobbing ice dotted the way to the island like floating white stepping stones.

One of the old salts unfurled a precarious looking rope ladder over the side of the deck. It clattered noisily against the wooden hull of the ship. Fleur's eyes widened as she looked at the rope ladder.

"You want me to climb down that?"

Rathe looked at her and said out of the side of his mouth, "I _want_ you to stay on deck… but I guess there's not much chance of that happening?"

Fleur's lips flickered with a smile.

"None."

Rathe sighed and nodded. He unplucked his large wooden bow from across his back and tossed it over the side of the ship. They could hear it clatter to the ice below. Rathe turned around and crouched down in front of the girl.

"Put your arms around my neck and hold tight."

Fleur did as he commanded. Rathe stood, easily lifting her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around him and gripped him tightly as he swung out over the side of the ship and elegantly climbed down the wobbling rope ladder. She clung tightly to his armor, inhaling the smell of leather and that other aroma that was pure Rathe. Her cheek pressed against the long red of his ponytail and she was surprised at how soft his hair was.

Rathe continued descending and dropped the last two feet to the ground.

"You alright?" He asked gruffly, lowering himself so Fleur could untangle herself from him.

The girl let go and stood up. She nodded as he retrieved his bow and re-slung the weapon on his back.

"Right. Now Fleur, listen carefully. Ice is treacherous. What may look solid may not actually be. Walk only where I walk. Understand?"

She was so accustomed to his speech by now. Quick, staccato, to the point. He was not a man to wast words and after years spent listening to her windbag brother who _loved_ the sound of his own voice, she found Rathe's matter-of-fact speech very refreshing. She nodded and nodded again when he continued staring at her to ensure his message had sunk in. This too was a habit the Shadow-Walker had that she'd come to find… endearing.

Finally satisfied he began carefully edging through the shifting ice fields. He'd test one step on a berg before putting his entire weight on it. The going was slow but methodical and they avoided several potential catastrophes when a berg broke up beneath his tentative first step and split into dozens of tiny pieces.

The outline of the island began to become more substantial and a towering fort loomed up from the Eastern side of the island. As the two carefully approached Rathe turned and raised his finger to his lips. He titled his head towards the fort and Fleur squinted up to see what had caught his eye. Through the mist she could just make out moving shapes along the wall walks.

_Sentries_.

Rathe hesitated as he peered straight ahead then plunged forward, moving quicker now as the ice began to become more solid. They were reaching the base of the island. Fleur looked over his shoulder and saw they were moving rapidly towards a yawning black cave where a small tide of sea water ebbed and flowed.

Rathe knew the sally port for what it was; a secure entry where pirates could come and go discreetly without the palaver of lowering the main drawbridge into the fortified area. He noticed that the icy walls into the cave were scraped from many knocks with wooden oars. The Shadow-Walker very quietly crept forward into the cavern and headed deep into Japhet's Folly.

He soon wished he'd forgone his fur cloak for although it provided warmth, it dragged in the water at his feet and was soon slopping around his ankles. It didn't hamper his stealthy skills and had Rathe been creeping forward on his own he would have been like a wraith slipping into the fort. As it was however, the sloshing steps of the girl behind him were loud enough in the icy cave to announce their presence well before any sight of them did.

It was fortunate that the cave seemed unguarded.

The two continued through the ankle deep freezing water and soon came upon dry land where supplies, crates and barrels were stacked. Hauls and plunder from piracy no doubt. Rathe's keen hearing detected skittering and he quietly unslung his bow. He crept forward as he nocked an arrow and soon spied one of Skyrim's massively oversized mud crabs lurking in the cave.

He put an arrow into the creature and continued on until the cave narrowed towards an overhead trapdoor. A rough wooden ladder had been left at the base of the trapdoor and the Shadow-Walker suspected it led into the heart of Japhet's Folly.

He turned and cast a warning look at Fleur to remind her to be silent and very carefully climbed the ladder to the trapdoor. With excruciating slowness he raised the trapdoor an inch and peered through the crack. He waited patiently and looked and listened for signs of activity above.

None.

While Fleur shivered with impatience the Shadow-Walker silently waited until he felt sure no one was above. Finally satisfied he lifted the trapdoor back further and disappeared into the fort above. Fleur waited until his hand appeared and beckoned her up. She climbed the ladder (somewhat clumsily compared to the elegant Shadow-Walker) and accepted his help to climb through the small opening.

She emerged into a dark ruin of a room; large, stone and with wet, dripping walls. It seemed to be some kind of storage area for there were racks and shelves of items and crates stacked near to the ceiling. A horrible musty smell assaulted her and she suspected somewhere in this vault were sacks of mouldering produce.

Rathe was looking around with interest, taking it all in with those coolly appraising pale eyes. Fleur noticed that he kept one hand pressed to his sword hilt at all times and he moved in a crouched position. She adopted his same stance and concentrated on making her own movements silent.

She followed him through a narrow hallway where flickering torchlight lit up the decaying ruin. Again Raldbthar came to mind and she was thankful that her brother had enjoyed the finer things in life or else her upbringing might have been in a place like this rather than the comfortable Dwemer ruin.

Rathe suddenly held his hand up and Fleur instantly stilled. She could see him tense in the flickering torchlight and she noticed his hands reach around for his bow. Finally she heard that which he must have already long detected; humming. Someone was close by.

Fleur watched as Rathe took his bow in careful hands and expertly fitted an arrow. She didn't dare move as he slowly sidled through the semi darkness and approached a corner. All she could do was watch as he raised the weapon and peered down it and around the corner. She could see his arm pull back as he readied the arrow and he paused for three heartbeats before releasing the string.

Fleur didn't see where the arrow flew and couldn't hear either a thud or scream but the slight smile on Rathe's lips told her his shot had been successful. She also noticed the humming had ceased.

He edged around the corner, waving one hand at her to indicate that she come on. Fleur dutifully obeyed and rounded the corner. She stifled a gasp as her eyes fell on the body. So much blood had come from one arrow!

She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat and raised her eyes to see Rathe watching her carefully. _He wants to see if you can handle the blood _she thought to herself. Fleur sniffed and crept forward, not even wincing when her boot slipped in the pooling blood. She came up beside him and looked him in the eye.

_See? You don't have to worry about me mate_ she thought with grim satisfaction.

What she didn't realise was that the torchlight illuminated her face with stark clarity; pale, devoid of blood and totally horrified at the sight of such gore. Rathe chose not to comment and jerked his head indicating that they continue.

Three more silent kills later the two reached a set of stone stairs that led upwards. Only two things made this set of steps different than other steps they'd encountered; these were lit with candles instead of torches, and a noticeable scent of alchemical ingredients and incense wafted through the air here.

Somewhere close by was a mage.


	31. The Battle of Japhet's Folly

Rathe Decanius – The Shadow-Walker

Chapter 31

The Battle of Japhet's Folly

Rathe's blades (already unsheathed and ready to taste blood) glinted in his hands as he silently moved up the steps. Fleur followed behind, trying to move (and imagining that she _was_) as quietly as him, and stepped only where he stepped.

The Shadow-Walker neared a doorway and he approached cautiously and leaned around to peer in. A central circular chamber, stacked with shelves met his gaze. The stone chamber was a veritable feast for an alchemist; the shelves stuffed to overflowing with ingredients and alchemical tools. At the very far end of the chamber, yet another doorway revealed a small room branching off from the chamber.

Rathe stood still and watched for a moment, and his patience was rewarded as the torchlight in the very far chamber was suddenly obliterated by a shadow. _Someone's there._

The Shadow-Walker turned to Fleur and she shrank back as she looked into his eyes.

He had his game face on.

He motioned at her and his meaning was very clear; _stay here, stay quiet._

She nodded silently and quietly reached around to unsling her crossbow.

Rathe turned back to the first circular chamber and glided in with the silence and grace of a desert asp. Jars of sabre cat eyes peered at him as he moved through the chamber and the bear claws stacked high on the shelves all seemed to be reaching toward him. Rathe, no stranger to making up the odd poison, thought a few of the rarer ingredients might be worth swiping on his way out.

He turned his attention to the small room before him as the shadow moved in front of the torch light again. Rathe crept closer and could now hear low muttering. The sound of someone reciting a passage from a book.

Rathe could now see into the small room which appeared to be a bed chamber, and was home to a chest of drawers, wooden bed and numerous bookshelves. His gaze flicked over the tomes stuffing the bookshelves and he frowned as he saw copies of spell books, conjuring tomes and enchanters' texts. Surely a mage's room if ever he'd seen one.

The Shadow-Walker eased up to the doorway and peered around. A man clad in heavy plate had his back to the door and was leaning over an alchemy bench. He had a concoction boiling and was studying the much thumbed and spattered text beside him carefully. Obviously in the middle of brewing some powerful potion.

Rathe knew that this man was Haldyn.

The Shadow-Walker surged forward in one fluid movement and loomed up behind the mage at the same time as one of his blades circled the man and came to rest on his throat.

"Move and you die."

Haldyn stiffened but to his credit, did not move, not even to straighten up.

"You've just made a very big mistake."

Haldyn spoke with a sneer in his voice and with the imperious air of one who is very at ease with his own standing.

Rathe's blade pressed a little harder against the man's neck and drew one bright bead of blood.

"I don't want to kill you. I just need information."

Haldyn's body trembled with anger and Rathe knew the man desperately wanted to stand up straight. He kept his blade pressed firmly to the man's throat.

"What information?"

Haldyn spat as he spoke. His face, unseen by the Shadow-Walker behind him, screwed up in concentration and the whites of his eyes showed as his eyes rolled upwards in his head.

Rathe opened his mouth to say The Albino when there was a sudden _crack_, a sharp tang of ozone and he was thrown backwards into the wall. Rathe's blades were flung from his hands but one had drawn a deep wound in Haldyn's neck as the Shadow-Walker was flung back.

Haldyn spun and staggered, pressing a hand to his wounded neck as the cloak of lightning that engulfed his body flickered around electrically. Rathe, quickly recovered from the initial electrical surge and boot he'd received, dropped into a crouch and rolled to the ground as the mage fired an arc of lightning into the wall where he'd been standing seconds ago.

Rathe rolled to one of his dropped blades, scooped it up and twisted to avoid a second blast of lightning from the mage. He twirled and slashed with the blade and the steel clanged loudly

As it bounced off the mage's plate armor. The force of the blow knocked Haldyn sideways and wickedly bruised his ribs but was not lethal. His plate armor, stained bright red from the blood gushing from his neck wound, was dented but could easily stand up to Rathe's light blades.

The mage grimaced and blindly shot volley after volley of purple lightning into the small room. Rathe twisted and spun but caught an arc across his right arm and chest despite his best efforts to dance aside. Burning, searing agony raced through his body as he was electrified by the lightning and he couldn't stifle a cry of pain.

Haldyn grinned evilly and zeroed in on the sound and prepared to unleash another blast of lighting.

A dull clunk accompanied the sudden stagger of Haldyn as he was forced backwards into the wall. The mage looked down with stunned eyes at the steel crossbow bolt that had punched through his armor and was protruding through both flesh and steel. As he raised his gaze another crossbow quarrel punched through his armor, slightly below his heart and slammed him further back into the wall.

Haldyn's lips pulled back and he grinned, all bloody teeth and malice as he aimed at the figure of the small girl standing in the doorway. _One good surge of lightning should fry her._

He never had the chance to see if his summation would've been correct.

A blade whistled through the air just as lightning was beginning to arc from his fingers. The blade sliced cleanly through skin, muscle and spinal cord and nearly decapitated the mage before coming to rest in the stone wall behind him. Haldyn's head wobbled atop his body, joined only by one thin cord of sinew that had missed being sliced.

Fleur stood in stunned shock as the briefest touch of lightning flicked over her; just enough to tickle really. Rathe still held the hilt of his sword at that crazy ninety degree angle, the blade tip embedded in flesh and stone. He yanked it backwards and it slurped free of the dead mage, sending him toppling to the ground.

All was silent in the chamber.

Suddenly Rathe exploded violently; swearing and kicking the corpse.

"Why do they always have to fight?!"

Fleur watched from the doorway and didn't dare go inside the room. She'd never seen him so angry. She knew he was devastated that the one man who might've been able to direct them to the Albino was now lolling on the floor but still, his fury and rage was unexpected and terrifying. Fleur wondered how much of this outburst was simply pent up rage that he _always_ struggled with... just didn't usually let it out.

She waited silently as he worked out his fury and by the time he'd calmed back down, Haldyn's body was barely recognisable. He squatted on his haunches and rubbed his hands over his face, his thoughts now directed inward.

Fleur quietly edged forward and whispered, "Rathe?"

His gaze snapped up as though he only now remembered she was there and his expression was so dark and cruel it chilled her to her very core.

"What." He said in a dead tone.

Fleur swallowed and found her voice.

"That book there... it looks like a journal. See it's not bound like the others... and there's a quill right next to it."

Rathe glanced at the dresser she indicated and his eyes fell on the crudely bound book. She was right; this was no Liminal Bridges... this was Haldyn's personal journal.

Rathe leapt up and grabbed the journal. He flicked through it rapidly, frowning at the spidery handwriting and trying to find something that jumped out at him. Fleur edged across the room and came to his side and looked down at the book. She was not aware that she kept a few inches distance between them; that look he'd given her was still very much in her subconscious.

Rathe flicked through page after page angrily, nearly tearing them as he flicked to the next one. He scanned the atrocious handwriting impatiently and kept flicking until suddenly there it was. Two words.

_The Albino._

Rathe read the words again. Then again. And again.

He dragged his gaze from those words to read the context surrounding them and learned of Haldyn's contempt for the Skooma Den Lord who was part funding their piracy. A man Haldyn clearly had no love for. A man who styled himself, The Albino.

Fleur, reading over Rathe's shoulder read further down and spoke as she recited the crisp words.

"And the impudent pig even requested me... _me_ to go to his damn hideout to personally explain how that last batch of Skooma went missing. How should I know for the Gods sakes? If he thinks I'm going to step one foot in that cesspit Redwater Den he's got another thing coming."

"Redwater Den." Rathe repeated.

Pale eyes met blue ones over the top of the book. She could see fire, agony, anticipation, anguish and a dozen other swirling emotions present in his gaze. His whole life had been leading to this moment; the Albino... Solidly within his grasp. A location. A name. A chance for vengeance and answers... finally.

As she watched, all emotion slipped away from the Shadow-Walker until all that was left was cold, steel-hard determination. His face turned to marble and the book slipped from his fingers and slammed heavily to the floor. He started striding to the door and Fleur frowned after him.

"What now?"

She meant 'what now' in regards to their immediate situation; being knee deep in the heart of Japhet's Folly with... what was that? Bombardment? It seemed that with Haldyn's death, the mist surrounding the island must have dissipated and Vendicci's legion had begun the siege on the fort.

Rathe however was singularly focused now on one thing and one thing only.

"Now... we get to Redwater Den."

He didn't even blink as the room suddenly rocked as a particularly violent explosion hit Japhet's Folly. Fleur was thrown back against the wall and realised Rathe was rapidly moving to the other side of the chamber and would be out of view in seconds.

She flung herself forward and danced aside as a rain of stone, pebble and dust spilled down from the ceiling. The girl dashed through the chamber and caught sight of Rathe striding down the steps easily keeping his footing amidst to rocking and rollicking. He looked around the shaking hallway, now thick with choking dust and spied a set of rungs cut into the wall leading up to a trap door poorly concealed in the ceiling.

The Shadow-Walker made his way to the ladder and paused. He turned and looked at Fleur who was stumbling after him. A particularly fierce explosion set the fort lurching violently left and she lost her footing.

Suddenly his arms were around her; steadying her and gently putting her back on her feet again.

"Climb Fleur. Hurry!"

The girl set her shaking hands on the wooden rails and started climbing. Noxious smoke touched her nostrils and she realised the inside of the keep was now on fire as well as crumbling down around them. She wasn't aware of the tears coursing down her cheeks as she reached the top of the rungs and pressed her hands to the trap door.

It wouldn't budge.

She pounded on it with her fists while coughing as thick smoke began filling her lungs. She started to feel light headed and nearly lost her grip as another explosion rocked the fort. Suddenly Rathe's lithe body was crawling up around hers, his long limbs reaching around her to keep her from falling. He pulled his arm back and viciously punched upwards at the trapdoor. The door shuddered and sent dust, grime and dirt raining down on them.

Rathe sucked in his breath and punched again.

The lock holding the door closed smashed open beneath the pressure of his fist and the trap door shot backwards. Fleur felt his hands on her waist as he half urged, half shoved her through the open trapdoor. She drew a deep breath as she crawled up and out and realised they were outside.

Crisp, painfully cold but beautifully clear air sluiced into her lungs as she crawled away from the trapdoor. Rathe crawled out behind her in a swirl of thick black smoke and he coughed harshly to rid his lungs of the noxious fumes.

Fleur, doubled over, paused for half a heartbeat before an explosion seemingly only feet away jolted her upright. Flames lit the dark night air and the roar of fire and screams of men filled her ears. In the eerie orange glow of bombardment Fleur could make out the scene before them.

The Imperial ship, Kynareth's Grace had move in to the harbour of Japhet's Folly and she could see the soldiers had been hard at work in taking the fort. Two pirate ships blazed brightly on the water and pirates and soldiers alike either ran from the blazing ships or engaged one another in the dance of swords.

Great ballista and miniature trebuchets on the deck of Kynareth's Grace were flinging pots filled with lit oil at the fort causing the explosions bombarding the keep. Unprepared for such an onslaught, it was all the pirates could do to charge and meet the soldiers with cutlasses raised and bolas flying.

Rathe's hand clamped around her arm and he ran forward pulling her with him. His free hand had drawn his blade and he put it to good use as a pirate made the mistake of half-heartedly charging at them.

Rathe finished the man with one swipe and continued on. Both were suddenly flung off their feet as two pots of oil landed side by side and caused twin explosions either side of them. The noise was deafening and searing heat licked all over Fleur as she threw her hands over her face.

The Shadow-Walker was on his feet again in seconds and was dragging her up and along while fresh smoke choked at them. They neared the massive Imperial galley and both Rathe and Fleur could see a host of pirates fighting at the gangplank with Adelaisa Vendicci leading the charge for the Imperial army.

Her host had become spread too thin however; flanks of her legion were trying to take the fort while only a small garrison held the ship. She hadn't anticipated such a great number of the cunning cut purses lying in wait to storm the ship while they left their headquarters to be ransacked. She didn't anticipate it because she didn't think like a pirate.

Rathe drew his second blade and raced to the edge of the icy cliff edge above the water line where the fighting was happening below. Without a second thought, the Shadow-Walker flung himself off the cliff and free fell with blades pointing down. His blades plunged into the backs of two pirates, stopping his fall and killing the men nearly instantly. He was back on his feet and swirling into the fighting immediately.

Fleur retrieved her crossbow from her back and with shaking fingers set to work loading the wooden contraption. She dared not fire a bolt into the seething mess of pirates, soldiers and Rathe; instead she sighted the lone pirate who had similarly set up on top of a snow covered hillock with a bow and arrow and was picking off soldiers manning the ballista.

Fleur drew in a deep breath and gently squeezed the trigger. The crossbow clunked noisily and she watched the pirate take a heavy quarrel into his shoulder. He was flung back and lost his grip on his bow. Even if he'd held it the weapon would forever be useless to him; Fleur's bolt had torn out nerve, muscle and tendon in his shoulder making his right arm quite useless.

Down below, Rathe was diving left and right and slashing with his blades. Had it not been for the training drilled into him, by his blade master Vaden Dren, the Shadow-Walker would have been overcome with the amount of foes surrounding him. As it was, he danced and dove and sent red mist spraying through the air but was not immune to a few nicks and cuts himself as a lucky pirate blade sliced in between his leather armor.

Rathe turned to cut down the pirate who had nicked him but instead watched as the man's head was cleaved in two from the vicious swipe of a long sword. Rathe looked into Vendicci's eyes as she yanked her sword free from the pirate's head. A mutual look of understanding crossed each face as they turned away to continue dealing death.

The remainder of the battle of Japhet's Folly was short lived.

Those pirates that lived threw down their weapons and either fled in whatever boats they could find, or gave themselves up the Imperial soldiers. Vendicci's troops were disciplined and surprisingly honourable and Rathe was surprised to see pirate concubines taken to the ship as prisoners without being raped first.

Fleur joined the Shadow-Walker as he quietly watched the Imperial legion go about making The Folly into an Imperial owned stronghold. They allocated men to be left behind to form a garrison and Vendicci tools her time scouring the fort for documents and shipment orders.

By the time she marched back to Kynareth's Grace, Rathe and Fleur were already standing on the bobbing deck waiting.

"Well Maro. I have to say... You came through for us. I didn't think you could do it..."

Rathe eyed the Imperial Praefect and wearily sheathed his blade after having through cleaned it.

"Perhaps next time you'll think twice before doubting the Penitus Oculatus."

Vendicci frowned but thrust her callused hand out.

"Peace?"

Rathe looked at her hand and clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Finally he pressed his gloved had into hers.

"Peace."

Vendicci finally smiled and the years seemed to fall away from her as she did.

"Well, are you ready to go? I've got to get this news back to the East Empire Company. And I'm sure you've got your own reports to make."

Rathe turned and looked back at the yawning open sea that beckoned.

"Oh I'm ready..."

The glint in his eye set the Praefect on edge and she moved quickly away. Fleur too stepped away from him; that glint was most unsettling.

He remained standing there staring out at the cold, black ocean for the remainder of their trip. What his thoughts were, she could only guess...


End file.
